Never Too Late
by Damienne
Summary: Years ago, Greg recieved some bad news. Now he's living with a harsh reality. But what happens when he no longer wants to be alone? Multi-chapter, adult concepts. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

Author: Damienne Ross

Rating: PG (for now)

Spoilers: None so far

Summary: Years ago, Greg received some bad news. Now he's living with a harsh reality. What happens when he no longer wants to be alone?

Greg Sanders knew the world.

He'd been a part of it for so long, an avid member, that it would have been impossible for him not to know every inch, every dark nook and cranny, of what went on. Some of it, he enjoyed, some of it he despised, some of it he didn't understand. But mostly, it was just what he'd known since he was fifteen. And being a San Francisco youth didn't help.

By the time he was fifteen, the early nineties were upon him, and it was simply a thoroughly different time. Because things had happened before he was old enough to understand, because a kind of liberation, then a kind of panic, then a kind of odd acceptance had settled into the town in the previous decade, he saw history as just that. History. The past. What you read about in textbooks and watch programs about on PBS. What you hear about from other people like the kind of ghost stories told around campfires during the summertime with flashlights dramatically held to your face.

When he was four, it was a silent concern, a hidden secret barely discussed behind closed doors by renowned physicians. At five, it continued to spread slowly, silently, an unrecognized ghost. At six, the media got hold of it. By seven, panic was beginning to spread, and though he was oblivious, it all seemed to be radiating from his little California corner. But by eight or nine, it had a reputation pinned to it that induced both terror and disgust, concern and bigotry. At eleven, he began to question his own sexuality, but not before he had a good hold on the implications.

Still, being a San Francisco youth lended him a kind of admitted cavalierness that he later suspected had been a major player to the root early eighties chaos to begin with. And that cavalierness garnered him attention. The wrong kind of attention.

But when it touched him in a way he never would have considered, things changed.

Greg Sanders changed.


	2. Chapter 2

Author: Damienne Ross

Title: Never Too Late

Chapter: 2

Rating: PG-13 for language and themes

Spoilers: General, mild

Disclaimer: Don't own, if I did Dita Von Teese would be out on her ass.

For a case with few leads, it certainly still _seemed_ like a lot of work. That was something Greg was learning quickly; whether it's the brutal murder of an upscale casino owner, or a no-harm-no-foul breaking and entering to a cheap mobile home in the underbelly of the outskirts of town, the CSIs still had to process the same way, with the same feigned enthusiasm, for the same amount of time.

Greg was wondering if he'd made the right choice abandoning his consistently interesting DNA lab for the mad, mean outside world of Las Vegas.

With the back of his hand he wiped the gathering sweat from his brow. It was hot out, well over eighty degrees which, to a native San Franciscan, was fifty degrees higher than what October air should naturally permit. He crouched down next to a footprint in the sand outside the mobile home, and snapped a photo with the large camera hanging around his neck before going about processing it. Probably, it was the owner's. Probably, it was completely irrelevant. Probably, a more seasoned CSI would know how to recognize what was probative and what wasn't and simply ignore the footprint in the sand. But most were working other, more interesting cases, leaving Greg alone with Brass to process the scene he'd been assigned to as the sort of rookie initiation he'd become very accustomed to.

He moved on to the next piece of pseudo-evidence he could find, a few shards of broken glass many feet away next to the window which, Greg noted, was not broken itself. Odd, he thought, perhaps the burglar had dropped something or the glass was from a previous incident or it was unrelated…

Beep! Beep! Beep!

Greg quickly pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and silenced the alarm, taking a quick look around to make sure Brass, still interviewing the intellectually challenged homeowner, didn't hear the disturbance.

He sighed. Was it noon already? Night shifts when he was working inside the lab had, for the most part, actually been _at night_. But since beginning work in the field, Greg knew still being on the clock four hours after shift ended was as routine as the ritual Greg's obnoxious cell phone alarm had reminded him of.

He stood slowly, taking one more deep breath of air.

"Brass," He called out to frustrated detective. Brass nodded in his direction. "Be right back, left something in the truck."

Shutting the heavy black door behind him and settling into the driver's seat, Greg pulled a small pill bottle from his back pocket and swallowed the bitter tablets without water.

_His kisses always tasted sweet, like honey. And that rough tongue, when it slipped its way into Greg's mouth, could get the man it belonged to anything he wanted._

_ "Fine," a mock-agitated Greg spoke to his swollen-lipped boyfriend, Liam. "You win, but don't expect a three-piece suit and tie." _

_Liam squealed with happiness and Greg couldn't resist thinking that he was just so damn cute. Greg had met Liam in college where they were both biology majors, Greg out of pure interest before he found his passion for forensics, Liam as a pre-med student. Liam was a little taller than Greg, and had twice the muscle mass of Greg, but it was his untidy dark brown hair and blinding blue eyes that Greg noticed first. A distinctively handsome face and a body fit for the Gods turned out just to be an added benefit._

"_They're going to love you, babe!" Greg's boyfriend reassured him, wrapping one arm tighter around his waist and planting a kiss on the top of Greg's wild blonde hair. _

"_Oh, I know they will!" Greg teased. "I'm just not so keen on spending Christmas in Philadelphia. Aside from cream cheese and steaks, what is there really to do?"_

_The larger man slapped Greg lightly on the butt before taking off in a sprint ahead of him, turning around playfully, challenging Greg to catch up to._

"_It'll be fun!" Liam yelled to Greg, now chasing after him._

_Usually Liam was right. Anything they did together was fun; dancing, clubbing, cooking, studying, whatever. But somehow Greg just couldn't see the fun in having to be in his meet-the-parents mode for five days. _

_Besides, he hadn't been feeling so well._

"Hey, Greggo, how was the B&E?"

Nick came up behind Greg, startling him from where he had been leaning with his elbows on the counter, trying not to fall asleep, as he watched the rich coffee brewing in front of him drip slowly into the receiving pot.

"Thrilling. Fantastic," Greg responded sarcastically.

"I'm so glad," Nick shot back, slapping him playfully on the back.

"I know this is probably a rhetorical question," Greg said, turning to face Nick who was shuffling through a day-old newspaper on the table in the break room. "But when do I actually get to, you know, investigate murders?"

Nick chuckled. "Just as soon as you get all the rookie work done and we get tired of teasing you, G!"

Greg couldn't help but smile at the Texan's inescapable charm. As much a Nick liked to pretend he was the quintessentially hazing and vindictive type of experienced CSI, Greg knew he wasn't. Since Greg met Nick six years prior, Nick had always been welcoming and supportive. When Greg announced his interest in moving to the field, Nick was the first one to congratulate him and offer support. And he'd followed through; within the time Greg had been working in the field, Nick had always been the one to present him with a challenging piece of evidence or include him on the interesting cases.

From the beginning, Nick had been a friend, the kind you feel you can always count on. And Greg had hoped and prayed their friendship would be enough for him. But he couldn't help himself; the way Nick was so caring, so compassionate, never failed to impress Greg, and that smoking hot body and charming demeanor didn't do much to help things.

Greg knew he could never have the slightly older CSI, for so many reasons, but he could always dream.

_Greg was getting mighty sick of doctors offices and copayments and stupid light blue exam gowns. He'd seen too many of them in the past few months. Every doctor did the same thing; looked him over, ran through his symptoms with him, took his blood pressure, pulse, looked down his throat and in his ears and all over his body. And they all sent him away with the same diagnoses: "It's a virus," They'd say. "It's just taking a while to leave your body, but it will. Be patient."_

_ He was running out of patience. For months now he'd been feeling sick, fatigued, all day, every day. That coupled with several other odd symptoms had prompted Liam to encourage Greg to make an appointment with their doctor and, reluctantly, he had. But he left his appointment with no answers, no medications, no worthy medical advice, just confusion and uncertainty._

_ And his symptoms had yet to go away._

_ A middle aged man with a beard and a white lab coat hanging off his slight shoulders walked into the room. _

_ "I'm Doctor Wilhelm," he introduced, shaking Greg's hand._

_ "Greg," Greg said, defeated and unable to keep the distrust out of his voice._

_ "Hi, Greg," The doctor responded before taking a seat in the rolling chair next to a small, sterile desk. "So tell me what brings you in today? You've been sick?"_

_ Greg nodded, interlacing his fingers and placing his hands between bare legs. He couldn't tell if he was cold because of the thin fabric of the hospital gown, or simply because he felt so all-around ill._

_ "When did this start?" The doctor asked, pen at the ready._

_ "About three months ago," Greg sighed._

_ "Three months ago." The doctor wrote something down. "And what kind of symptoms did you first notice?"_

_ Greg thought only for a moment. "Tired…I got tired all the time. At first I thought it was just stress – I just started a graduate degree program – but it didn't go away. And then I just started to feel sick, like I had the flu or something, all the time."_

_ "And you've had this fatigue and feeling of sickness for the whole three months?"_

_ Greg nodded._

_ "What else?" The doctor continued._

_ "Well, I sort of started to get used to the fatigue. But then I noticed I was having trouble finding foods that didn't upset my stomach."_

_ "So nausea," The doctor scribbled. "Any vomiting?"_

_ Greg nodded. "Sometimes."_

_ The doctor nodded for Greg to continue._

_ "Sometimes I have fevers too," Greg said, taking in a deep breath before continuing. He'd explained these symptoms too many times to too many people. "And the weirdest thing is the weight loss. I've lost almost thirty pounds in just a few months."_

_ "And in the past few months you haven't begun any sort of weight loss plan?" The doctor asked, making eye contact with Greg for what seemed like the first time._

_ Greg shook his head._

_ The doctor made a few notes in Greg's chart before continuing. "And tell me a little bit about yourself, Greg. Are you in a relationship? Any kids? Any recent life changes?"_

_ "I live with my boyfriend," Greg said, looking down at his bare feet and waiting for a reaction from the doctor that didn't come. "It's just us…and our dog I guess. And other than graduate school, nothing much has changed."_

_ The doctor wrote down something else. "How long have you and your partner been together?"_

_ Greg considered the question. "A few years I think, why?"_

_ None of the other doctors had asked anything like that, they'd simply jumped into a rushed exam and sent him on his way with the wrong diagnosis._

_ "Just general information," The doctor responded. "Are you monogamous?"_

_ Greg cocked his head slightly to the side, trying not to seem suspicious of the round of new questions. "Yes," He said finally. _

_ The doctor put down Greg's chart and snuck his pen back into the breast pocket on his crisp white lab coat. _

"_Let me ask you a few questions that may seem irrelevant, Greg. They're just going to help me figure out a few things, okay?" The doctor seemed to be using a tone that sounded familiar to Greg, somewhat like the tone you might use with a scared child or a skittish puppy._

"_Okay," Greg said, uncertain._

"_You and you're boyfriend, you engage in sexual intercourse?"_

_The question caught Greg off guard, but he was too exhausted to read much into it. "Of course," He simply said, hoping this wasn't going to turn into a homophobic tirade from the doctor._

"_May I ask what kind?" The doctor said, not with any ounce of judgment, but rather with something that sounded a bit like…compassion._

_Greg had to think about what the question entailed for a moment. "Oral…and anal," He spoke finally, shrugging with thin shoulders._

"_Are you the receptive or insertive partner?" The doctor asked._

_Again Greg had to think about the question. Rarely did he discuss his sex life in such an open and frank way. "Oh…both, mostly I bottom."_

"_And do you use condoms?" The doctor didn't seem at all uncomfortable with the conversation._

_Greg shook his head. "No, not usually…I mean, we're monogamous…"_

_The doctor nodded, and made another quick note in Greg's previously abandoned chart._

"_Okay, Greg, thank you," He said kindly. "I'm going to do a thorough physical exam on you, and then we'll discuss where to go from here. Does that sound okay?"_

_Greg nodded, still a little shaken by the unusual course the visit had taken so far. No one else had asked him about his personal life, about Liam, certainly not about their sex life. But as Greg laid down on the hard examination table, then sat up, then stood up, then turned around, they laid back down again, all while being poked and prodded by the thorough doctor, the only thing he could think was, "God, I hope he knows what's wrong with me."_

Acidic coffee sat in his stomach like rainwater pooling at the base of a barrel. Greg should have gone home, he knew it, he should have left his case notes for another time, allowed himself to get some sleep, eat a meal, have a little time to unwind.

Instead he sat in the evidence layout room legibly rewriting his notes onto different paper. As far as he could tell, the Breaking and Entering he'd been so unenthusiastically working all shift was going to be fairly easy to solve, and he could use a few extra brownie points with Grissom.

But simply writing notes and looking over case photos was becoming increasingly difficult. The CSI hadn't eaten in several hours and, upon reflection, drinking two cups of coffee in a very short amount of time might not have been such a good idea…for anyone. Anyone would be feeling a little sick, right? Anyone, any normal, healthy person, needs real food and rest. It wasn't just Greg. It wasn't just his situation. It wasn't just the potent medication that sometimes still wreaked havoc with his body. It was just a normal, human response.

Greg continued to tell himself this, even as the room began to spin, even as sweat began to drip from his body, even as he hunched over the white toilet bowl in the men's bathroom that smelled too much of disinfectants and vomited everything in his stomach.

"You should go home," He spoke quietly to himself. "You should get some rest."

_ His legs shook sitting in the uncomfortable leather-lined chair in Doctor Willhelm's office. Pictures scattered the desk; a good looking woman and two young kids Greg assumed were the doctor's. Two diplomas were hung on the brick colored walls to his left, framed in subtle wood, not meant to be shown off but rather to reassure. Books of versatile titles lined the bookshelves on both sides of the room. Greg found the doctor's non-exam office to be more comforting, less sterile; more like the kind of place you could have a serious conversation._

_ "Greg, how are you?" The doctor asked, entering the room via the large wood door behind Greg and shaking his hand firmly before taking a seat in the office chair opposite him._

_ "I'm fine, doctor, thank you," Greg responded politely. "I'm assuming you have some news for me?"_

_ The doctor nodded, but there was something off with it. It wasn't the kind of nod you get simply in confirmation, it was the kind of nod you get as a reassurance that you're being listened to. _

_ "Yes, Greg, we got the results of your bloodwork back." _

_ Greg nodded, a little nervously, and began to wonder if he really was so eager after all to get the results._

_ "As you know," The doctor continued, "We ran a very extensive work-up on you."_

_ Greg nodded again._

_ "And I'm afraid I have some bad news, Greg."_

_ His mind immediately rushed, his heart immediately sank. "Bad news" could encompass too many things, and he held on to the armrests of his chair unwittingly, leaving indents where his fingers dug into the leather._

_ "I'm afraid you're HIV positive." _

After a several hours of uninterrupted sleep and a good meal, Greg returned to work the next night feeling as good as new. Almost, at least.

"G!" The familiar voice came at him from down the hall, and Greg simply could not help but feel even a little better. "How would you feel about accompanying me on a double murder off strip?" Nick asked, catching up to Greg and placing a hand firmly, comfortingly on Greg's shoulder.

Greg knew the look on his face was probably that akin to a small child's on Christmas morning, but he simply couldn't help himself.

Nick smiled back. "Great, meet me at the truck in a few minutes."


	3. Chapter 3

Author: Damienne Ross

Title: Never Too Late

Chapter: 3

Rating: PG-13 (for now)

Spoilers: Mild to none

Author's note: Thank you all for reading and leaving such fantastic reviews! On to chapter three!

A quick trip home had turned out to be just what the doctor ordered. Greg couldn't help it, as lame as it was, seeing his mother always made him feel better. Seeing his father didn't hurt either. Seeing his grandparents and cousins and old friends were all added benefits.

Seeing his ex was something he could have lived without.

Inevitably, six years after a horrible diagnoses and a very unpleasant break-up, the universe would force Greg and Liam together again somehow. And, as is this cruel, cruel universe, it did. Out one night with a few college buddies, Greg and his friends sat down at a crowded booth next to a voice that sounded oddly familiar. It wasn't until his friend, Alex, whispered, "Hey Greg, is that Liam?" that he realized he was about to face his first confrontation with the man who cheated on him, lied to him, deceived him, and eventually was single-handedly responsible for the diagnosis that almost threatened to derail his entire life. Almost.

"Greg!" Liam finally said once he spotted Greg on his way out of the bar. He awkwardly reached out his hand to shake Greg's, but when Greg didn't respond, he instead just gave him an uncomfortable pat on the shoulder. "What brings you here, man?"

"Just visiting," Greg responded, with not one ounce of perceived kindness.

Liam half-smiled and nodded his head, and Greg was relieved to see that he seemed to get the point and was about to walk away, before a tall, muscular blonde man in jeans and a white muscle shirt came up behind Liam and possessively placed two gigantic hands on his shoulders.

"Who's your friend?" The behemoth man whispered confrontationally in Liam's ear.

"Babe…this is Greg," Liam pointed uncertainly at Greg who refused to show any emotion on his stoic face. "Greg, this is Jeremy."

Jeremy…Jeremy…the name rang a bell. _Right_, Greg realized slowly, agonizingly recalling the conversation.

_"What is his name?" Greg had shouted so loudly neighbors in other houses could probably hear._

_ "What does it matter Greg? I love y-"_

_ "It matters because I just found out whoever it is has ruined my life! And don't you fucking dare say you love me!" Greg was fuming, his whole body so angry it was probably hot to the touch. _

_ "Fine, Greg. His name is Jeremy."_

_ Greg's hands shook, his face red and hot and sweaty. "Don't be here tomorrow between noon and two so I can get my stuff and eliminate you from my life."_

Greg just nodded at the man behind his once lover; the man he once thought he was going to spend the rest of his life with.

"You guys should go," Alex said, standing up to prove his point. Alex was the type of guy who wouldn't hurt a fly, but at six foot seven and almost three-hundred pounds, he was not the type of person you wanted to mess with.

Liam gave a small parting smile to Greg before grabbing his angry boyfriend's hand and leading them both out of the bar.

Greg took a deep breath, thanked his friend, and then promptly ordered three rounds of Tequila for the table.

"G, how was the trip home, man?" Nick caught up to Greg in the parking lot and playfully slapped him on the back.

Nick's touch, even so innocently, sent shivers down his spine.

"It was good, nice to get away. How were things around here?"

Nick shrugged. "Busy, as always. Nothing new."

The men walked inside and to the break room with easy banter. Grissom gave out cases, a murder in a cheap apartment complex about thirty miles from the lab – seemed to be drug related – and a body dump on private ranch property just outside city limits, an assault on the strip, nothing earth-shattering.

"Greg," Grissom announced after assigning the apartment-homicide to Catherine and Nick and the body dump to Warrick and Sara. "You're going with Nick and Catherine."

Greg tried to hide his smile, but failed. Grissom had only recently assigned him to homicides, which Greg knew was a sign that Grissom was beginning to trust him.

"Alright, ready to go, Greggo?" Catherine asked in her usual, motherly tone.

Greg nodded.

He was happy to be working actual crimes, he really was, but he was still having a bit of trouble adjusting to the smell of a decomposing body. His colleagues had assured him you get used to it after a while and it begins to seem less potent, but at the current moment, in a dark, untidy, unclean apartment, the only thing Greg felt was disgust and nausea.

"How did the neighbors not notice the smell sooner?" Greg asked no one in particular, covering his nose with the back of his hand.

"Too high, too stupid, who knows," Nick answered from the right corner of the room where he was processing the body.

"Broken glass by the window," Catherine observed aloud. "Looks like someone broke in. Greg, do me a favor and process this while I talk to the neighbors?"

"Will do," He responded, kneeling down in front of the window where the glass was scattered in uneven pieces on the floor. He began photographing it before picking up a shard to bag for trace.

"Ow! Fuck!" The large shard slipped from his gloved fingers, cleanly slicing through the latex and his skin. Warm red liquid began to spill from it and he instinctively pulled his hand towards his chest.

"Everything okay over there, G?" Nick asked, standing up and looking over Greg's shoulder.

"Yeah," he answered quickly. "Just cut myself on the glass."

When he stood up with the intent to locate a bandage, he startled at how close Nick was to him. His body was or cologne or deodorant or whatever the hell it was that made Nick smell so damn good assaulted Greg's nose.

"Let me take a look," Nick said, reaching out his hands to grab Greg's.

"Don't," Greg half-shouted instantly, pulling his hand away. Embarrassed and noticing the surprised expression on Nick's face, he smiled warmly. "I mean…evidence purposes or something, right?"

Nick just nodded, a little stunned at how insistent Greg was.

"I'm going to go find a band-aid," Greg muttered, leaving the crime scene for the first aid kit in the truck. "Don't touch the glass…I'll clean it up when I get back."

Greg had learned quickly to treat his body like a touch-sensitive bomb. The horrid months following his diagnosis, he was afraid to get close to anyone, like just hugging them or shaking their hand, or even casually brushing against someone in a busy mall could somehow infect someone else. First it was because he was ashamed of himself, he felt dirty and contaminated. Then it became an easy way to prevent people from getting too close, both physically and emotionally. Finally, within the past few years when life had returned almost to normal and Greg was a self-proclaimed expert at living with his disease, he knew that, scientifically, he could be around people and touch people and get close to people and they'd be fine. Still, he treated his blood like burning lava, and though he knew he was overly cautious, he couldn't help himself.

Nick, however, seemed to see it differently, because sitting in an unusually awkward silence on the car ride back to the lab that seemed to take forever, Nick just seemed…hurt. Confused and hurt, and it hurt Greg to see Nick unhappy.

"Nick, back at the scene…"

Nick glanced at him quickly, almost trying to pretend he didn't know what Greg was talking about.

"I'm sorry," Greg mumbled. "Don't take it personally…please…I just…"

"Didn't want me to touch you?" Nick asked, trying to maintain a light, joking tone but failing.

Greg shook his head. "No, Nick, that's not it."

"It's fine, Greg," Nick shrugged. "I understand."

Greg was far from convinced, and opened his mouth to say something – anything – before that damn, obnoxious alarm sounded from the phone in his pocket. He quickly silenced it, hoping Nick would think nothing of it. He glanced at the clock on the dashboard, 12 noon again, and again he wondered when night shifts became so…day-like.

Nick seemed as if he wanted to say something to Greg, but before he could, Nick's phone rang and he answered it with a familiar, "Stokes".

_Saved by the bell_, Greg thought, heaving a small sigh of relief.

There were times, especially with Nick, when Greg desperately wanted to tell him everything. And there were times when he came very, very close to doing so. But something, some sort of alarm in the back of his head, always went off. That alarm always alerted him to the fact that, no matter how much he wanted, _needed _someone in Vegas to know the truth about him, no one ever would. He couldn't have what he wanted and needed so badly because he, himself, was still learning how to deal with his own life; he wasn't about to drag anyone else into it. Not when that someone else was the man he wanted so badly, and knew he could never have. Not when that someone else was so dangerously close to being _too_ close to Greg.

Sometimes, though, his heart wouldn't shut up long enough for his logical brain to catch up to it, and what he wanted still had some validity.

_"It's not a death sentence anymore, Greg. It doesn't mean you aren't going to live a long, happy and healthy life."_

_ Yes it did, Greg thought. That's exactly what it meant. The middle aged doctor with the beard sitting across from him in a brick-colored office may have had the credentials, the degree, the knowledge, but Greg simply _knew_ that he was not going to be the same from that point on. He was never going to be the same. How could he?_

_ Millions of thoughts rushed through his brain. How? When? Why? What did this mean for his career, his life, his future? And, oh God, what did this mean for any dreams of love and a family and cliché picket fences? _

_ He may not die tomorrow or the next day, or even in the next many years. But it was too late, because something inside of Greg was already dead. _


	4. Chapter 4

_"You'll need two types of blood test on a regular basis. One measures the amount of a certain type of immune system cell that we all have in our bodies. That count will determine how much damage the virus has done to your body and how well the medication is working. The other measures the amount of the virus in your body, so we can tell how well the medication is keeping it under control."_

_ She short, blonde-haired nurse rambled on for several more minutes, but Greg couldn't stand to listen any longer. For whatever it was worth, he was resentful of the fact that his newly-appointed army of doctors and nurses and counselors and social workers and whatever the hell else they told him he needed all insisted on talking to him like he was seven and a half. He had a Bachelor's degree in biology, was almost done with a Master's degree, he knew how the immune system worked._

_ All he could really do, though, was rest his head in his left hand and pretend to be listening to what the nurse was saying._

_ He was tired, but unlike the tired that had prompted him to see the doctor who finally figured out what was wrong with him months ago, this tired sprung mostly from stress and overwork and hyperactive emotions and lack of sleep._

_ "I know the doctor went over all the information on your medication with you, do you have any questions?"_

_ Greg sat up straight and shook his head. That wasn't true – he had a million questions – but none that a nurse was going to be able to answer for him. _

_ He left the beige office complex with a million pieces of paper detailing various types of very unpleasant-sounding things, a prescription he was to have filled as soon as possible, and absolutely no idea how he got to this point._

Greg was surprised he allowed himself to say "yes" to the proposition of going out for drinks to a new off-strip night club with Nick, Warrick and Catherine. When he was younger, nightclubs, dancing, and drinking were three of his favorite things to do. But then things happened, and lives changed, and he hadn't been out in a long while.

And normally he would have turned down the proposition, not just because the idea of getting slightly inebriated in the presence of coworkers is generally not a good one, but because, strange as it was, Greg didn't fully _trust_ himself. When he was younger, before he met Liam, Greg was out at least every third night. He'd drink and dance and hit on guys and be hit on by guys, but he never took anyone home or went home with anyone. He was careful back then, naive but still aware. And, sure, being flirted with was fun, but Greg was looking for love. A part of him still was, the only difference was that Greg simply was rarely able to shake the imagined idea that he was wholly contaminated.

It was a strange concept, but Greg didn't trust himself to go out, drink a little, dance a little, and not give in to temptation. It was silly, he knew. He would never forget the "condition" he was in, not ever, not for a moment. There was no way, barring some sort of aneurysm, that he would even let someone close enough to whisper something in his ear. But he couldn't shake it, somehow the most damage that had been done over the past years since a thoroughly terrifying diagnosis was that Greg lacked trust; in friends, in lovers, in himself.

And then there was Nick, that built, scientific, kind-hearted, Texas-twanging, completely irresistible piece of pure sex appeal that Greg could not say no to. It was a simply as that. Had Warrick or Catherine been the one to extend the invitation, he could have easily said no, made some sort of excuse like he was tired or had plans or wanted a rain check. But not Nick.

And, Goddamn, that man looked fine dancing casually with Catherine to a slow-rock tune Greg was embarrassed to admit he knew. Warrick was having a conversation with him about something, but it took everything in Greg to simply muster up an occasional, "Uh-huh" or fake laugh.

Nick was moving to the beat, with a giant smile plastered on his handsome face, spinning Catherine around on the dance floor with a precision Greg would not have guessed Nick had. It seemed to come so effortlessly to him, like the beat was engraining itself in Nick's muscles and he was just following its orders, under its command.

It was memorizing, and all Greg could think of was how much he would give to be in Catherine's place.

"Greg? Um, Greg?" His name spoken in Warrick's deep voice barely registered before he snapped out of his Nick-induced haze and looked at the man.

"Yeah, sorry," Greg said, shaking his head.

"A little distracted there, man?" Warrick teased.

Greg laughed uncertainly. "Yeah, I guess I am."

Warrick nodded and smiled a knowing smile. "Which one you got your eye on, man?"

Greg smiled. Even though Warrick was obviously oblivious to Greg's shamelessly smitten infatuation, he couldn't help himself. Before he had time to answer Greg's question, an energized Nick was bounding over to him, smiling.

"Did you lose your dance partner?" Warrick asked.

"She rebuffed me, man," Nick responded teasingly. "She's over at the bar with some businessman."

The three men glanced towards the long, clear glass bar on the far left side of the huge room to see Catherine, in obvious full-flirting mode, chatting with a middle aged man in a black pinstripe suit.

Warrick made a face. "She can do better than that fool," He said, knotting his brow. "Excuse me, gentleman, let me go woo her back onto the dance floor."

Nick and Greg both laughed, knowingly addressing Warrick's not-so-subtle crush on the strawberry blonde.

"You just been sitting over here, G?" Nick asked, sliding into the booth dangerously close to Greg.

Greg could feel the heat radiating from Nick's body, could smell that smell that was so _him_. He took a quick swig of his beer, trying to regain conscious thought.

"Just observing, I guess," he responded, trying to sound casual and not including that the "observing" he'd been doing was strictly focused on Nick.

"Now that's no fun!" Nic exclaimed, quickly jumping up from the booth just as fast as he'd sat down and offering Greg a hand.

"You want to dance with me?" Greg asked, more flattered that surprised.

Nick nodded. "Why not?"

Greg happily obliged and the two men moved onto the dance floor. Their bodies began rippling to the music, and soon they were a little too close for casual, slightly drunk friends. Much to Greg's surprise, Nick didn't even react when Greg almost unconsciously moved one hand to rest behind Nick's neck and they continued dancing until their bodies were almost flesh against each other, and they could hear each breath the other was taking.

Greg didn't quite know whether the spinning in the room was from the alcohol or the proximity to Nick, but whatever it was it was having an almost hallucinogenic affect on him. And before he had time to process it, Nick leaned forward and planted a bruising kiss on Greg's mouth, as if he'd done it a thousand times before.

They continued slowly swaying to the music as their tongues did their own dance and their hands roamed up and down each other's backs and necks and through each other's hair. Nick's taste was intoxicating, the way his lips felt and tongue moved dream-like. And Greg was almost lost in it.

"How would you feel about taking this elsewhere?" Nick whispered huskily in Greg's ear.

Suddenly, raw feelings of fear and toxicity and shame coursed through Greg again. Instinctively, and without thinking, he pushed Nick with the palms of his hands as hard as he could. Nick stumbled back only a little, his solid build no match for Greg, but the look on his face spoke volumes about how hard he's just been shoved.

Greg shook his head. "No, Nick…I'm sorry…" Immense guilt filled him from the bottom up, _How could you have led him on like that?_ He asked himself. His face flushed and quickly he turned and walked off the dance floor, towards the hallway that led to the entrance.

"Greg, Greg wait!" Nick called out behind him. "Wait," He grabbed hold of Greg's sleeve and Greg spun around to see the flustered, confused man he'd just share an incredible series of kisses with. He wanted more. He couldn't have more.

"I'm sorry," Nick spoke. "I didn't mean to imply…I mean…if I offended you…"

Greg shook his head. "No, Nick, it isn't that. It's just…I just…can't." His voice was defeated and surrendered.

Nick stepped closer to Greg and tucked a short strand of loose, sweat-saturated hair behind Greg's ear tenderly. "Why not?" He asked with all honesty.

Greg sighed. "Nick…please…I just can't."

He was almost begging, pleading with Nick to turn and walk back onto the dance floor. He was praying Nick would stop prying.

"Nick…" He began, but his voice gave out.

"I know this is sudden, G, but I've wanted this – you – for a while now. I just haven't had the courage to say anything, and I…I just want to be with you, G."

Greg's heart nearly flew out of his chest, because those were exactly the words he'd always wanted to hear from Nick. And then his heart sank as reality caught up to him, and he remembered why he couldn't hear those words, and certainly couldn't act on them.

"Nick…" he took one of Nick's large hands in his own. "I'm really happy to hear you say that…but you don't understand."

"Then _make_ me understand, G!"

"I _can't_," Greg said defiantly, taking one step away from Nick.

Nick looked hurt, but pressed on.

"G, _tell_ me. Please." Nick was shamelessly begging to be let into Greg's dark, confusing world, and Greg simply couldn't give him as much.

Greg felt tears he didn't know were there swell up in his eyes. "Just leave me alone, Nick. Please. It's for your own good."

Nick looked confused. "Greg, the only thing that's 'for my own good' right now is you. That's it."

A few tears fell from Greg's eyes, and he didn't try to stop them.

"_Don't_ Nick. Just don't." Greg was on the verge of yelling, suddenly feeling a rush of emotion that wasn't present five minutes ago. He began backing away from Nick, almost as if there were two strings attached to his torso; one telling him to go, one telling him to stay. And the former was winning.

"Greg–" Nick stepped forward to grab Greg's hand before he pulled it away as if it was burning coal. "Greg…" Nick repeated, voice small.

"I'm HIV positive, Nick!"

He didn't know where the words came from, didn't know how to stop them. They flew out of his mouth like water through broken levies. His right hand immediately flew to his mouth as if he'd just uttered a top-secret government code. He didn't stop to see Nick's reaction, instead turning as fast as he could and rushing out the doors and to his car, driving off in the silence he'd become so accustomed to.

It had been just a few days since Greg let slip his deepest, darkest secret, and to the man who he'd been falling in love with for six years, no less. The night after, Nick had been off, and though Greg had a missed call from the older man with no voicemail, he hadn't gotten up the courage to call him back. The night after that, Greg was off, and he spent the entire evening trying to come up with something to say to Nick when he did see him eventually. So far, he had nothing. He couldn't understand why it was so difficult to have a conversation about it with Nick – man to man, friend to friend – but it was.

And the next night, he really couldn't understand why the type of thing that happened next shift just kept happening. The world was messing with him, he figured.

Surely, his workplace had to be the single most dangerous place to work in the world. Period. A bunker in Afghanistan had absolutely nothing on the dangers that awaited within and outside the confines of the Las Vegas Crime Lab. Just wearing the Las Vegas Police Department ID was like wearing a "Kick Me" sign on your back. It was getting a little ridiculous, really.

Of course, that's not what Greg was thinking at the time, Greg was thinking, "Oh, look, that seems to be evidence. Let me turn that dark corner by myself with no back-up. No problem."

Admittedly, unlike the lab explosion a couple years prior, this one was probably his fault. And he was sure he'd be getting the lecture later in the day from Grissom or Brass, or even the perpetually motherly Catherine on proper precautions to take at the next crime scene.

But as a young female nurse with jet-black hair bandaged the superficially deep knife wound around his upper left arm, all he was really thinking about was the kind of silent exchange, the unspoken conversation worth a million words, he'd had with Nick a few hours prior.

Oh yes, the dangers of the Las Vegas Crime Lab extended much further than madmen behind dark corners.

The lack of sun felt good. That was a little ironic.

At night in Las Vegas, it was almost like you could pretend that autumn air was the temperature it was supposed to be; late fifties, mid sixties, it was a nice break from scorching sunlight and temperatures worthy of data in an Al Gore documentary. And since working the first shift with Nick since his major confession was turning out to be a hundred times easier than expected, all was looking up. Literally, for a middle aged man who had been star-gazing through a cheap, National Geographic type telescope off the highway miles away from the bright Las Vegas lights who had, seemingly randomly, been shot point-blank from behind the abandoned convenience store three hundred or so yards away.

And since the universe hated him and all, Greg had been assigned to work the case with Nick, alone. So the two men scoured the grounds looking for very scant evidence with no one but a few officers standing guard and the distant hooting of owls to keep them company.

And really, with the kind of luck he'd been having with broken glass lately, he should have just stayed away from it.

"I've got a trail of what looks like broken glass over here, Nick," Greg called out to the older CSI who was crouched down in front of what, from afar, looked like nothing in particular.

The trail of glass began a few feet from the boarded-up front door of the once convenience store. Greg slowly walked the path of the glass, noting how it trailed almost in a perfect line, and then bent around the corner. Following the shimmering specs with his flashlight so as not to step on any of them, Greg inched his way around the corner, not breaking eye contact with the glass.

"Nick, some of the glass has-oomph!"

A hand was on Greg's mouth as another spun him around so his back was flesh against the heated skin of another person, and then a quick, sharp pain spread through his upper left arm, just below his shoulder, and he was just as quickly released by the unidentifiable attacker. The shock sent him falling to the hard, dirt ground with a thud, and the next thing he could cognate was wondering how Nick got there so quickly.

"G!" Nick yelled, too loudly considering their proximity. "What the – go chase him!" He shouted at the two young, stunned officers who promptly took off after Greg's attacker, far away enough to be nothing but a dark silhouette in the distance.

Nick knelt beside him, one ungloved hand gently grasping Greg's wrist and extending his arm to take a better look at the damage.

Greg felt pain; sharp, unnatural pain. He also felt the very, very natural feeling of disgust and insanitation and contamination he always felt when he saw his own blood, now flowing down his arm like wave upon wave of crimson ocean water.

"Nick, _don't_!" He tried to pull his arm away, but Nick didn't let him.

"Stop, Greg," Nick insisted harshly, though somehow still maintaining a sense of comfort. "How deep did the knife go, do you know?" Nick brought his other hand up and tightly clasped it around Greg's wound in an attempt to stop the heavy flow. Once again Greg jerked his arm, trying to pull away, but Nick held fast.

"Let go, Nick," He tried again.

"One of the officers called for an ambulance, though I don't think it's too deep," Nick ignored Greg, ripping a piece of his cotton, royal blue tee shirt from the bottom near the hem with a surprising ease. Cautiously he began to wrap it around the large gash on Greg's arm.

"Nick – fuck – let _go_!" Greg tried once more to move from Nick's grasp, but his strength was no match for Nick's; physically, sure, but when Greg looked at Nick for the first time, he saw something there he hadn't ever seen before, in anyone. Nick looked…unafraid. His hands were covered in Greg's blood, his clothing spattered with the toxic substance Nick _knew _was there; yet he was unafraid.

"Stop, Greg." He spoke serenely. "Stop. You aren't going to contaminate me, Greg. Stop fighting me."

And the eye contact between them was the kind you only see in cheesy romance movies or read about in books, and Greg swore he could have just leaned up and kissed Nick right there, but for the nearing sounds of a siren and the sharp pain he'd almost forgotten about.

Nick squeezed Greg's hand and they stared – just stared – until two paramedics moved in behind Nick and began working on Greg.

He didn't remember the ambulance ride, anything that was done to him or said to him, because all he could see or feel or experience was the presence of Nick, covered in the evidence of Greg's very heartbeat, and unafraid.


	5. Chapter 5

Title: Never Too Late

Chapter: 5

Spoilers: Mild to none

Rating: PG-13 still for language and adult concepts

Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who's been reading and commenting, you're all lovely. 

"Greg, how are you?"  
Greg smiled at the woman. "I'm fine, Shelby, how are you?"  
The pretty, dark haired, dark skinned woman in her mid thirties, wearing a dark blue, knee-length dress under a white lab coat, gave Greg a warm smile. "Well, I'd be better if this damn town would produce some decent men!"  
"Now, Shelby, I keep telling you I'll find one of my dashing young colleagues to set you up with." He lifted his chin ever so slightly as if to make his doctor feel like he was some sort of professionally trained matchmaker.  
"And how can I trust you to do that when you can't manage to bag a decent man for yourself?" She tapped him playfully on the forearm.  
Greg laughed. He simply loved the woman. He loved her attitude, her ability to make him laugh even though she only saw him at his most vulnerable times. He loved her smile and her ease and the way she spoke to him like he was a partner in his disease, not just a passenger on her hyper-credentialed ship.  
When he was offered a job years ago at the Las Vegas crime lab as a DNA analyst, right out of graduate school, he'd been wary. Sure, he had the highest grades in his graduating class, his recommendations were impeccable, his attitude incomparable, but being invited to one of the busiest, most reputable and well known crime labs in the country at no older than twenty-five was not something he'd been told to expect. And when he flew out to Las Vegas from San Francisco for the interview, he immediately began to suspect that the reason the position was available, and the reason no one had yet filled it, was because Las Vegas as a city was somewhat akin to what Greg imagined a brothel in Hell would look like - sinful, guilt-filled, and only pretty at night.  
He took the job, of course, partially because lead DNA analyst for one of the best crime teams in the country was not something even the most seasoned and experienced scientists turned down. Partially, though, he also took the job because of Shelby. Greg became ill on his trip to interview in Vegas, something he was quite used to, but so ill that he rushed himself to the nearest emergency room where, after telling his triage nurse he was HIV positive, was immediately handed off to Shelby Fox, a clinical immunologist who not only nursed Greg back to health with top-notch care and an incredible bedside manner, but was also single-handedly responsible for realizing that Greg was on a very dangerous combination of medications. He was later told, by an adoring nurse of Shelby's, that had she not caught the error in the combination, he would have eventually gone into the first stages of heart failure. At twenty-five.

So Greg left the town he'd grown up in - the town of family and friends and memories, good and bad - and took two jobs; one at the Las Vegas crime lab, and one as Shelby's newest patient. He saw her every three months, and while visits to doctors in San Francisco were dreaded and stigmatic and painful, visits to Shelby in Las Vegas were calming and reassuring and, actually, somewhat enjoyable.

Then, a year after his move, Greg was called in to lend a DNA analyst's opinion on a case in which they'd also called in another specialist - a clinical immunologist named Shelby Fox. Greg had seen her five times in her office and a few times outside of it. Yet, when she was "introduced" to Greg, she shook his hand and, with total conviction, said "Hello, Greg, nice to meet you." He was sure he had made the right choice in moving to Vegas there and then.

"Your tests look fantastic, Greg." Shelby sat in the small rolling office chair opposite where Greg was seated in a surprisingly comfortable nylon backed chair. Shelby flipped through Greg's chart. "Your viral load is nearly undetectable, your CD4 count is in the seven-hundreds, and - oh dear Lord, Greg, what did you do to your arm?"

Greg chuckled a little as Shelby's eyes zoomed in on the heavily bandaged wound he'd received two days prior. "Accident at a crime scene, everything's fine."

"It doesn't look fine!" Shelby's slight Southern accent became more detectable. "What on earth happened?"

"A stupid CSI who wasn't thinking and turned a dark corner without checking to see if anyone was behind it happened." Greg laughed at his naivety. "It's just a cut, no problem. A few stitches and I'm good as new."

Shelby smiled a wide smile at Greg and grabbed his hand. "Who knew working in the field would be so dangerous, honey!"

Greg laughed again. "I'd heard stories. This was actually my second accident in a couple weeks."

Shelby maintained her smile but looked concerned. "Share with your doctor, sweetie, come on."

Greg widened his smile. Shelby, though a brilliant physician, had become more like a close friend who just happened to have an MD after her name.

"Apparently broken glass hates me, I cut myself on some at a crime scene."

"Were you trying to seduce it or something?" Shelby joked.

"I was just trying to bag it for evidence!" Greg defended light-heartedly. "And then..." Greg thought of Nick, of how hurt he'd looked when Greg instinctively pulled his hand from Nick's reach, and the moment they'd shared a few days ago. His heart skipped a beat or two.

"And then...?" Shelby encouraged.

"Nothing. I just...a co-worker tried to - I mean, he wanted to see how deeply I'd cut myself, if I was okay, and I didn't let him..." His voice trailed off and suddenly his light-hearted smile was gone and he seemed more vulnerable than anything else.

"Greg?" Shelby encouraged, taking on a reassuring tone.

"It's fine. It was fine." Greg shook his head, almost trying to pull himself out of his memories.

There was a comfortable silence in the room for a moment, almost as if Shelby knew, instinctively, Greg wasn't done sharing.

"Shelby?" Greg asked. She nodded. "I know - I mean - how...how contagious am I?"

She knew what he meant, she got similar questions often from newly diagnosed patients, especially ones who were caught off guard by their diagnosis. She grasped one of Greg's hands in her own and squeezed softly.

"Normally, Greg, I'd tell you that you needn't worry, that transmission from someone handling your blood so simply as a friend offering first aid is safe and contamination is very unlikely. But that isn't what you mean, is it?"

Greg looked up at her briefly with a sheepish, sad glance. He shook his head.

"Sweetie," Shelby said in a soft tone, rolling her chair so that she sat next to him. "It's hard living with this, I know. It's _really_ hard. But it doesn't control your life, Greg, and it doesn't mean you can't do what someone who's HIV negative can do, understand?"

Greg was trying not to cry, he did too much crying in Shelby's office. "But how? I'm...contagious."

Shelby laughed a laugh that was neither insensitive nor demeaning - it was reassuring. "You aren't, Greg. Not the way you think you are. You weren't expecting your diagnosis, honey, which I think is why you've been just so cautious about who you share it with. But we've come such a long way with treating HIV, and there is absolutely no reason that you shouldn't be able to have healthy, happy relationships with people, Greg. In every aspect."

He smiled, he almost couldn't help himself.

"So what's his name?" Shelby asked, tone lighter now.

"Whose name?" Greg tried to sound like he didn't know what she was talking about, but he failed and gave in. "Nick, his name is Nick. How did you know?"

Shelby laughed again. "I've been seeing you for years, Greg. I know you." Greg couldn't argue with that. "Does he know?"

Greg thought about his yelled confession in a night club, about how he didn't watch Nick's reaction, about how Nick had been unafraid to touch Greg and aid Greg and comfort Greg, even after he knew. He nodded. "But I should have told him differently."

Shelby looked confused, so Greg explained the kiss, the confession, the knife wound and the ambulance ride. Talking to Shelby was like talking to a best friend - easy and reassuring.

"What happened after the ambulance ride?" She asked.

"Nick came by, but he was with our supervisor. He just got a chance to tell me that they caught the guy who slashed me and were holding him in custody. And then our supervisor jumped in with a speech on how to properly handle crime scene dangers in the future."

Greg couldn't help but chuckle softly thinking of Grissom, standing in front of Greg who was still being stitched and bandaged, lecturing him for half and hour before finally shaking his head, putting a firm hand and Greg's shoulder, and saying, "So don't do it again and I'm glad you're safe."

"Have you seen him since?" Shelby asked.

"Sort of. At the lab, but only for a few minutes - we've been on different cases."

"What did he say when you saw him?" Shelby was his doctor, the woman who checked his blood tests and educated him on his medications and answered all his dumb questions, but she also did quite a bit of being Greg's therapist, and he wasn't complaining. Come to think of it, she, and now Nick, were the only ones in Las Vegas who knew about Greg's disease to begin with.

"He didn't really _say _anything, he's just been acting differently."

"In a bad way?" Shelby asked.

Greg shook his head thoughtfully. "No, no, just like he knows something he's always wanted to know. I think he - sort of - understands me."

Shelby smiled. "You should talk to him," She offered.

"I don't know," Greg hesitated.

Shelby tilted her head to one side. "Greg," She said knowingly, "You should talk to him." 

"Nick, wait up!" Greg yelled down the hall when he spotted that unmistakable backside.

Nick turned and waited for Greg to catch up. "What's going on, G?" He asked in a friendly tone.

"Nothing much, going to watch Cath interrogate some poor sap." The boys laughed.

"Stand with your back towards the wall in case she decides to go all Matrix on him," Nick joked.

"Will do." Nick smiled and was about to walk away before Greg stopped him. "Hey, Nick!"

Nick turned.

"Do you want to grab breakfast later or something?" Greg internally beat himself up; was he being too forward? Bold? Should he let Nick come to him? "I mean - I just thought - we could talk about...everything," He defended himself.

"Breakfast is good, G," Nick said, apparently not turned off by Greg's proposition. "Al's? My treat."

Greg smiled shamelessly. "Sounds good."

"Great! Meet me out front around ten or so." Greg nodded. "Good luck!"

_Luck_, Greg thought. He smiled to himself.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

_"I like this place. I used to come here all the time my first few years of college. It was all I could afford." Greg chuckled, taking a seat in a vinyl booth, ripping in many places, opposite the young, impressively-dressed banker he'd met a few months ago in an elective course he was taking. _

_"I only recently discovered it," Cody Michaels, the bright blue eyed banker responded._

_"It's pretty terrible, but if you don't think too hard, it can be kind of perfect." Greg shrugged, remembering his early college days when he was so young and naive and felt so indestructible. Three weeks away from graduating with a Master's degree, he momentarily marveled at how much had changed since then._

_"So tell me about yourself, Greg," Cody jumped right in. _

_Greg shrugged. What was there to tell? "I'm glad to be almost done with my educational career?" He jokingly guessed, eliciting a forced laugh from the man opposite him._

_"I'm not so glad for you, I'll miss seeing your adorable face around," Cody answered charmingly. Greg smiled shamelessly, he wasn't beyond transparent complements._

_"Ditto, though if I really feel like seeing you, I can always track you down with the fancy equipment at the lab in Vegas, right?" Greg laughed, making light of the move he was to make in a little over a month, the one he wasn't so sure he wanted to make._

_"I don't know if you'll have time between all the hookers and gambling," Cody joked. An older waitress poured coffee for them which they both wasted no time in enjoying._

_"Are you going to forget about me?" Greg flirted. It had been nearly two years since the dramatic ending to the relationship with his longtime boyfriend, Liam, and sitting across the table from Cody sharing bitter, weak coffee was the closest he'd come in the time since to dating. He still had the charm in there somewhere, he figured. He just had to find it_

_"Of course not," Cody teased back, grabbing Greg's hand resting on the table for a few seconds. "Though I'm surprised you weren't already taken when I asked you out, I'll be honest."_

_Greg laughed, mostly to himself. Surprised, yeah. _

_"I really haven't dated much since-" He cut himself off. _

_"Since?" Cody pressed._

_"I don't know, since my last boyfriend and I broke up and I was diagnosed HIV positive." _

_He sort of regretted the words as soon as they came out of his mouth, and he sort of loved them at the same time. He'd told friends, his parents, his grandparents about his diagnosis, but he'd never told any potential romances. He figured honesty was probably the best policy, right? Better they know sooner than later._

_Cody's expression changed to something Greg couldn't place. It was almost sympathetic, or empathetic, but it was cold and distant and...different, at the same time._

_"I'm sorry to hear that," Cody said, tilting his head to the side as if trying to figure out something very confusing. "I'm going to use the little boys room real quick, be right back." Greg nodded._

_He didn't come back. __  
_

"I think the most terrifying thing about it is the way she looks at the suspect," Greg chuckled to a receptive joking partner. "It's like she's about ready to pull a gun on them or something."

Greg and Nick had been light-heartedly evaluating the half terror, half awe and inspiration that was attached to watching Catherine interrogate a suspect. So far, the morning breakfast run felt fine, normal, like nothing had changed between them even when everything had.

"Just wait until you see her and Brass together," Nick responded playfully, putting a hand on Greg's lower back and nudging him towards an open booth at the far end of the kitschy diner.

They sat down, Greg on one side, Nick on the other, like they'd done several times before. They ordered coffee - and cream for Nick - like they'd done several times before. Everything was the same, and nothing was.

"Greg," Nick started first, in a deeper tone with less resonance of Nick's famous Texas twang. "I didn't know if I should have asked you to talk sooner. Don't think I didn't want to or anything, it's just...I just...figured you'd come to me when you were ready."

Greg nodded. "I know, Nick. Thank you for that." He was a little uneasy with the unestablished mood at the table. "I dropped a bomb on you the other day, Nick, I'm sorry."

"Please don't be sorry, G," Nick interjected immediately. "You can tell me whatever, whenever. Besides, I overstepped boundaries of my own."

Nick thanked the middle aged waitress who poured their coffee before going about adding the perfect amount of cream and a packet of sugar from the bowl on their table.

"I don't even know where to begin with this conversation, Nick," Greg laughed, deciding to voice what they'd both probably been thinking.

Nick shrugged slightly. "I don't either, Greg."

Greg took a deep breath. Before anything else, there was a question he needed answering. "Nick..." He trailed off before noticing the attentive look on Nick's face and deciding to continue. "How is it that you don't seem to be...afraid of me? Now that you know, I mean."

"Greg," Nick began, wondering how anyone, anywhere, could be _afraid _of the perpetually gentle and caring man across from him. "I'm not afraid of you because there's nothing to be afraid of, G. Being around you - touching you - isn't going to infect me."

Greg smiled up at Nick. "I know that," _sort of_, "But not many other people do."

"I'm not many other people, G," Nick laughed.

Greg smiled. _You sure aren't_, he thought.

"I didn't mean to tell you, Nick," He let slip, slightly under his breath.

Nick tilted his head slightly to the side, unsure if he should be offended or not.

"Then why did you?" Nick asked uncertainly.

Greg opened his mouth to say something, and closed it just as quickly. He didn't know, really. He had no idea. Maybe because he wanted someone - anyone - to know. Maybe because he wanted Nick to know.

"I don't know," He said, a little sadly, with a shrug.

There was another silence at the table for a few moments, though it almost seemed to be whispering the hundreds of questions they both needed answering.

"I don't know what to do here, G," Nick finally said, speaking honestly in a tone that seemed to be a little tainted with something like concern.

"About what?" Greg asked.

Nick looked across the table at him, making direct eye contact. "I don't know what to say to you, or what to ask you or..." he took in a deep breath. "Or where to go from here."

Greg reached across the table and made contact with Nick's hand, held in a tight first that unclenched reflexively at Greg's touch.

"I've never told anyone, Nick. Just being supportive is more than enough. And you can ask me whatever you want - I owe you that."

Nick seemed to calm a little, giving Greg a small smile.

"I'm really the first one you've told, G?" He asked, surprised.

"In Vegas, yeah."

"Why?"

Greg sighed. Why. He didn't know himself, fully. "I guess because I was sort of...running from all of it when I moved out here. And because it's not an easy thing to tell someone and because I'm afraid of what they'll say, and because I really, _really_ hate myself sometimes for...letting this happen."

Nick felt like crying for the younger man. He'd always known Greg as the most confident, outgoing, almost obnoxious lab rat with the crazy hair who couldn't possibly hate himself. He was learning there was a lot, a whole personality, he didn't know about Greg.

"But Greg...seven years you've been here - right? Seven years on your own?" Nick couldn't fathom it.

"It's not as bad as it sounds," Greg shrugged. "Besides I've got my family, they know, and friends back in San Francisco and if things get bad, I call them."

"How long..." Nick trailed off, not knowing if it was okay to ask, even with Greg's reassurance.

"Have I known?" Greg asked. Nick nodded in confirmation. "Nine years last month. I was diagnosed my first semester of graduate school."

"But how did you..." Nick trailed off again.

"Nick, I said ask anything, and I meant it. Anything. Really."

Nick smiled at him, swallowed a gulp of air, and continued. "How did you..." He still seemed incapable of asking.

"Get sick?" Greg finished his sentence, again Nick nodded. "I was in a relationship with a guy...Liam," It stung to say his name. "We were together two years and we - I thought we were - monogamous. I don't know when exactly I was infected, but we were both tested before we got together, and we were both negative." He inhaled deeply before continuing. "He'd been cheating on me with some guy, apparently for a while, and when I was diagnosed I put two and two together." He toyed with the handle on his coffee mug. "Turns out Liam had known he was positive for a few months, and just thought I somehow wouldn't get it, I guess."

"He _knew_?" Nick looked disgusted.

Greg nodded. "Yeah, yeah he knew. Nice, huh?" He laughed humorlessly.

"That's...awful, G. Who would do something like that?"

Greg had trouble fathoming that on his own. "Liam. Liam would, I guess," He said dryly. Nick shook his head disapprovingly. "Anyway, I broke up with him as soon as I found out. Well...as soon as I could breathe again."

"That sounds terrible, G. I can't imagine going through something like that." Nick stared intently at the table, trying to wrap his head around the kind of betrayal someone had done to Greg before Nick even knew him.

Greg shrugged. "It's okay. I mean...it isn't, it sucked, but at least I found out what a lying, cheating bastard he really was." There was an absence of bitterness in Greg's tone, almost like it had all been used up at an earlier date.

"So what did you do?" Nick continued.

"I moved out, and cried a lot, and almost flunked my first semester," Greg said matter-of-factly. "Then I stopped feeling sorry for myself and realized that this was my life now, and I had to find a way to live with it. I didn't get treatment until almost a year after I was diagnosed."

"You were scared," Nick validated.

"I was, I was scared. I still am, sometimes," Greg said so low Nick had to strain to hear him.

"How is it all now?" Nick asked.

Greg nodded slowly. "It's okay, actually. I mean, I'm really healthy. There are medications and doctors visits, and I have to be careful, but I'm okay."

Greg's assurance in his own words put Nick at ease, too. "I guess a lot has changed, then," Nick said. "When I was young, HIV was a death sentence." He shook his head

"Wait...that's not what I meant. I meant-"

"It's okay, Nick," Greg reassured him. "I know what you mean."

Nick sighed, and began to speak before he retracted his words and began again. "I..lost someone to it when I was younger. A few someones, actually."

Greg looked up from where he'd been staring into his coffee cup. Usually, Nick didn't share, not his favorite movies or family history, much less private stories from the life of a young Nicholas Stokes.

He didn't know what to say, so he choked out an "I'm sorry" in a small voice. Nick didn't continue, so Greg assumed it wasn't something he wanted to talk about.

"Can I ask a question now?" Greg asked after an easy silence. Nick chuckled and nodded. "How did you know I was going to...why did you kiss me?" He felt ashamed to be asking the question, but wanted an answer nonetheless.

Nick laughed nervously. "I'd blame the alcohol, but I only had one drink." Nick took a deep breath. "I've known I was gay since I was seventeen, Greg. But you don't tell people in Texas that you're gay. I'm okay with it now, but I wasn't for a while. And I'm private." He inhaled quickly. "What I'm saying is that it takes someone who's hid it themselves to spot someone else who's hiding it."

Greg looked thoughtfully at Nick. "I'm not...hiding it..." He tried to argue, though he knew he was lying through his teeth.

"G," Nick said. "I've known you for seven years, and not once in that time have you ever said anything that would even _suggest_ that you're gay."

Greg stared into his coffee cup again. "I never thought I would..." He began smally. Nick looked confused. "When I was younger," Greg continued, "I was so open about everything. Maybe too open. I mean, I was born and raised in San Francisco, openness is second-nature. But then...I became such a stereotype" Greg again laughed humorlessly. It nearly broke Nick's heart. "I mean, a gay guy with HIV. Shocking, right?"

Nick wrinkled his brow and spoke with total conviction. "No, Greg. Don't ever think of yourself like that."

Greg looked away from Nick, unconvinced. But when Nick's hand made contact with his again, it portrayed something he couldn't remember feeling. Acceptance, compassion perhaps. Or maybe - _maybe _- love.

They talked for hours. Nick told Greg about being young and gay in Texas. He told Greg about what it was like and what he was told during the beginning stages of the epidemic he was only thirteen when began. Greg told Nick about his decision to move to Vegas, about Shelby and the fact that his greatest fear is anyone at the lab finding out.

At noon, when the dreaded alarm rang from his jacket pocket, Greg almost shut it off and tried to pretend like he didn't notice the disturbance, before he looked across the table at Nick and remembered that this person, this one person, was someone he didn't have to hide around anymore. It was a remarkably wonderful feeling.

So instead, he retracted the small pill bottle from his pocket, and swallowed the tablets before explaining to Nick.

"They're called antiretrovirals," he said, putting the pill bottle back in his pocket. "They make me sick as hell, but they're what are keeping me alive," He joked, smiling at the love/hate relationship he had with the bitter medication.

"You take them everyday?" Nick asked.

"Twice a day, yeah," Greg responded. Nick nodded, and it wasn't the kind of disgusted, confused, hurtful nod Greg had been assuming would come from anyone should they ever find it; it was just a nod. The kind two guys share when they're talking. The kind two normal, healthy men share when they're talking. And Greg loved that.

"So what now?" Greg asked, quickly wiping a tear from his eye with the back of his hand.

"Now, I think you let me take you to dinner," Nick said simply.

Greg smiled. _Dinner_, he thought. _How very...normal.__  
_

Hundreds of miles away in a large, perpetually cold town, always foggy, with rolling hills and old fashioned trolley cars, a young man awoke in a hospital bed. His body ached; his legs were bruised and bandaged from where he'd been kicked and dragged across the rough terrain of an alley behind a poignant Chinese restaurant. His arms and torso were throbbing in every place he'd been hit, cut, kicked. His backside, especially the private entrance to his body where he'd been unwillingly entered by another man was sore and raw, making him nearly cry out in pain every time he moved against the rough hospital sheets. His head, though, his head hurt worst of all. It pounded with his every heartbeat and fire seemed to be burning from the large gash on his temple.

Two men, both large and muscular, one with unruly brown hair and one with tidy blonde hair, coursed through his memories.

"Someone should take him to the hospital, doncha' think, Liam?" The large blonde man said in a deliberately sweet, though somehow diabolic tone before the young man finally blacked out.


	6. Chapter 6

Title: Never Too Late  
Chapter: 6  
Rating: PG-13 for language and brief explicit detail.  
Author's Note: I received a few comments expressing some confusion with the last few paragraphs of the last chapter, and now I understand why! When I write the chapters, I do so in a Word document and use symbols as breaks between different parts of the chapter, but they don't show up when you publish the chapter on FanFiction for some reason. Problem solved, thanks to everyone for bringing it to my attention, and thanks so much for all the wonderful, helpful reviews.

Greg felt like an idiot, standing in front of the full-length mirror in his bedroom in his fifth potential outfit selection of the evening. He had been satisfied with the first one until he realized that he wore the same jeans the last time he saw Nick and decided there was simply no way he could wear them again. Then he tried on the same shirt with another pair of pants and decided that the shirt really went best with the first pair of jeans, so he scrapped she shirt as well. The third had potential, but it might have been too cold out. The fourth was good, too, but it wasn't yet cold enough for long sleeves. So in his fifth selection, he stood facing the mirror, then turned sideways, then turned his back to the mirror and looked around his shoulder, then...

_Oh for God's sake, Greg. What are you, choosing an outfit for the Golden Globes? It's not this complicated, have you never dated before? _He thought to himself before shaking his head quickly and just deciding to where the damn outfit he had on.

Truth was, though, he _hadn't_ really dated. Not in the last seven years. Not since he'd...known. And he did feel a little like he'd never dated before in his life because, honestly, he was such a different person than the way he was seven years ago.

After he'd been diagnosed and the massive, Liam-induced haze had lifted, he'd tried, for a while, to continue dating. Greg liked dating. He liked men and sex and the thrill and the nerves, and he was damn good at it. But he quickly realized that things had changed - everything had changed. He was always honest with anyone he dated for two reasons: One, if they had a problem with it, they could leave right away and Greg wouldn't have wasted any time on them. Two, because it was only fair. They had a right to know, they had a right to leave, they had a right to chose not to get involved with someone who could potentially be a danger to them.

It worked for a while. Then it got too painful. So he stopped dating, he stopped having sex, he even tried to stop thinking about it. And it was perhaps not the thing that had changed most about his life post-diagnosis, but the thing he missed most. He missed the thrill and the nerves, he missed being loved and showing love to someone else, he missed being _touched_.

And then there was Nick. Nick who was so unafraid of him, Nick who had shown nothing but support, Nick who had become Greg's one confidante, Nick who was, in exactly forty-three minutes, going to take Greg to dinner. On a date. And Greg thrilled at the idea of being on a first date with someone and not having to slip in, between anecdotes and information about his family, "Oh yeah, and I'm HIV positive."

Greg smiled at himself in the mirror, and not just because he looked damn good in dark wash jeans and a tight-fitting patterned blue T-shirt. He was excited and anxious and, sure, giddy and feeling the butterflies in the pit of his stomach. For the most part, even, his constant feelings of contamination and contagiousness were even gone, partially due to a slightly panicked call he made to his doctor a few days prior.

"Dr. Fox," Shelby had answered in a tired voice, as Greg quickly realized he was calling well after normal human waking hours.

"Shelby...I'm sorry, I forgot not everyone keeps the same hours as me."

"Greg!" She said, and he could practically hear her smile. "What's up, sweetie?"

"I had a question, a stupid question."

"No such thing, but continue," Shelby urged.

Greg took in a quick breath. "Can I kiss him?"

"What?" Shelby sounded confused.

"Can I kiss him," Greg reiterated.

"Who?" Shelby asked, and Greg took a few moments to fill her in on the goings-on between him and Nick and their scheduled date. She let out a small, excited shriek before remembering his initial question. "Of course you can kiss him!" She laughed a little.

"You're sure?" Greg suddenly sounded more serious, and Shelby took note.

"Greg, honey," She reassured. "You're not going to infect someone else by kissing them."

Greg knew, logically, the virus couldn't be transmitted through saliva, but logistics hadn't been making their way into his brain lately. "It's scientifically impossible?" He asked petulantly.

"It's scientifically impossible," Shelby confirmed.

There was a pause. "But...but what if I was bleeding from the mouth or something?"

Shelby couldn't stifle her laugh. "Greg, I certainly hope that if you're bleeding from the mouth your first thought is going to be first aid, not making out."

"No, but what if I, like, brush my teeth too hard or something, and then my gums bleed a little, and then I kiss him, and..." Greg knew he was being completely irrational.

"And?" Shelby asked. "And Nick swallows your blood and becomes infected?"

Greg didn't respond. He knew he sounded like a complete idiot, and he silently praised Shelby for not hanging up on him.

"Yeah," He finally said, smally.

"Well..." Shelby wasn't completely sure how to answer. "Then a write an article for the New England Journal of Medicine and receive acclaim for being the first doctor ever to report an incident of HIV being transmitted via excessive Oral-B use."

Greg couldn't help but laugh, Shelby somehow always knew exactly the right things to say.

"So I can kiss him?" He asked again, needing to hear it one more time.

"To your heart's content, love," She confirmed.

And he'd been feeling a little more at ease since then. The thing that got his heart racing, though, was the pressure. What if the date didn't go well? What if he did something stupid and it completely changed Nick's mind? What if things went badly? What would that mean for the fact that Nick knew Greg's deep, dark secret? What would that mean for the future of Greg's love life? What-

The doorbell rang, and almost simultaneously Greg realized he'd just spent an entire forty-five minutes worrying about all the things that could wanted to go right and all the things that could go wrong, and all the things that could go _really_ wrong.

But then there was Nick, rocking back and forth on the heels of his feet in a perfect outfit, standing outside Greg's door. And suddenly, everything was going to be okay. 

"They're both off tonight," Catherine said, answering Warrick's question of 'where are Nick and Greg?'

"Lucky bastards," Warrick yawned, pouring himself a cup of hot, albeit very weak coffee from the community pot in the break room at the lab.

"Greg had it off, I think, but Nick traded a Saturday shift with some guy from days," Sara interjected, not looking up from the paper she'd been skimming through.

Before Warrick could wonder aloud why anyone would trade a Wednesday night for a Saturday day, Grissom entered the room holding a pair of reading glasses in one hand, and the assignments for the night in the other.

"Okay," He spoke. "Warrick and Sara, a DB off Tropicana. Bring lots of gloves and I hope you haven't eaten anything in a while, apparently it's quite a scene." Warrick and Sara exchanged a look, exhausted already at what the shift had to offer and slightly annoyed by Grissom's frankness. "The day shift CSI Nick traded with is working with Hodges to process the car he brought in last shift, and Catherine, I'll need you to fly solo at a sexual assault off strip. First I need you on a conference call with me, though."

"Who with?" Catherine asked.

"San Francisco PD. They've apparently had a series of odd rapes performed by two men. They have reason to believe there are Vegas ties."

Catherine shrugged, but seemed intrigued. "Okay," She said simply.

"Good luck," Grissom sing-songed mockingly to Warrick and Sara, who turned and gave him good-humoredly angry looks.

"Vegas ties, huh?" Catherine asked once the two other CSIs were gone.

Grissom nodded, a little sadly. "And not a word of this to anyone."

"I almost want to be surprised at your restaurant selection, Nick," Greg joked as he took in his surroundings. Nick had made reservations at a small, newly built restaurant miles from any touristy parts of Las Vegas. It was one Greg had been wanting desperately to try since it opened months ago, but he was absolutely sure he'd never mentioned that to anyone.

"It seemed like your kind of place, G," Nick shrugged. "Didn't think I could be that thoughtful?" He joked.

"No," Greg responded. "I just figured you took all your first dates to some swanky place on the strip or something, a salad and pasta place in Henderson doesn't seem like your style."

Nick laughed. "I generally just take all my first dates to my bed," He joked, though he regretted the honest words the minute they left his mouth. _Obviously that's not so easy for him, Stokes_, he silently chastised himself.

Greg shook off the slightly thoughtless comment. Clearly Nick wasn't happy with himself for being so frank. "You're nothing if not honest, Nick," He laughed. "Does that mean I should feel special that I actually get a meal?"

"Definitely," Nick responded.

They were seated at a small table near a window and were immediately waited on by a young, college-aged man. Initial awkwardness set in almost as soon as they sat down, and Greg was feeling exceptionally self-conscious with each passing second.

_This is silly_, he tried to reassure himself. _It's Nick, you know him, you trust him, this is silly..._

"Sorry, Greg," Nick said, pulling him from his own thoughts.

"Sorry about what?" Greg asked, trying to slow down the pounding, rapid pace of his heart.

"What I said...back there. That was stupid."

Greg simply shrugged. "A little," He admitted.

"I'm..." Nick began, cutting himself off. He chuckled slightly. "I'm nervous."

Greg smiled. "I'm glad it's not just me," He admitted, relieved to hear Nick feeling the same way he'd been feeling all day.

"This is stupid," Nick spoke, speaking almost Greg's exact thoughts. "We know each other. Well. It's not like we've never talked before." Nick seemed to be more convincing himself than anyone else. "Let's...start over."

Greg smiled wider. "Deal."

Catherine frowned sadly. Not again. Seriously, not again. Enough had happened to every CSI on the team she considered her own already, enough horror and mystery and fear to last a lifetime. Enough.

"This is ridiculous, Gil," She spoke aloud, shaking her head.

Grissom only nodded, removing his reading glasses from where they rested on the bridge of his nose.

The conference call had ended only moments ago, and a foreshadowing pall hung over the room like a translucent sheet. Enough. Not again. And not Greg, definitely not Greg. Enough.

"As far as we know, Cath," Grissom finally spoke, "This could all be a false alarm. The detective mentioned that they had a lead. Let's let them follow it."

"They may need Greg," Catherine argued. "They may want to ask him if he has any enemies, maybe someone back home who has a grudge against him..."

"These attacks are brutal," Grissom interjected. He looked over the notes he'd taken from the conference call as he spoke. "The victims are beaten, raped, not to mention the diabolical nature of them...it's hardly the kind of thing that could be perpetrated by someone who simply has a grudge against Greg."

She was confused. "All six victims white males, late twenties or early thirties, blonde hair, brown eyes, work in scientific specialties in some way or another..." She played back the startling similarities between all victims and their youngest, newest CSI. "And every victim has reported that the two suspects kept calling them by Greg's name. First and last, Gil. How else would you explain it?"

Grissom was silent. He didn't know. He had no idea, no hunch, and not nearly enough evidential proof to decide anything one way or the other. "I don't know," Was all he could say.

Catherine shook her head. All victims had been hulled in the Intensive Care Unit for the severity of their wounds. Bruises and abrasions and cuts and broken bones, and that was just the physical proof. The detective from San Francisco reiterated at least five times of how simply _strange_ the attacks were. There were two male perpetrators, not one. They both seemed to be expressing rage rather than a need for domination. And then there was the odd note from every victim that the two suspects were absolutely adamant that they spill their own blood into the wounds of the victims and ejaculate not once, but twice, though neither suspect's DNA could be linked to any other cases. It was odd. It simply didn't add up. And Greg - one of their own - was somehow caught in the middle of it. Again.

"We don't tell him, Cath," Grissom announced many silent moments later. "We wait until the San Francisco PD can give us more information. Or maybe they catch the two suspects and we won't have to worry about it at all. Either way, not a word to Greg. Not a word to anyone."

Catherine nodded. "Not a word." 

"You're not doing it right," Greg chuckled. "Here, watch me."

He took a seasoned soybean from the plate in front of him and enjoyingly - and maybe _slightly_ teasingly - wrapped his lips around it and used suction from his mouth to remove the three smaller beans from inside the pod before placing the now empty pod back on the plate.

Nick smiled, suddenly feeling a little unable to form coherent words.

"I'm thinking maybe I should just avoid healthy green things in general," Nick laughed.

Greg reciprocated Nick's contagious laugh with his own. "Maybe."

"So should we stop ignoring the pink elephant, Nick?" Greg asked honestly after a short, comfortable silence.

"Which one, there seem to be so many," Nick joked.

"How...and where..." Greg took a sharp intake of breath. "What the fuck are we doing here, Nick?" Greg asked honestly.

Nick took a deep breath, then reached his hand across the table to interlace his fingers with Greg's. He seemed to have something he wanted to say, but he stopped himself and instead simply shook his head. "I have no idea."

"Could you get an idea? I need you to have an idea. Because _I_ have no idea, and you're the one who's always supposed to know what to do, and quite frankly I'm concerned that you're leading me on and after a while you're going to get bored or scared or sick of me, or sick of waiting for me, or sick of dealing with all my baggage or something and..." Greg realized he was rambling. "...And yeah."

Nick smiled. He couldn't help it. "You don't scare me, Sanders," was all he said, though the confident smile on his face communicated so much more.

With a small movement of his hands, Greg indicated that he needed to hear a little more from Nick, a little detail.

"I don't know where this is going, honestly," Nick spoke. "But I do know that I really like you, Greg. A lot. I have for a long time and I do still - even more - now. I understand that dating you is going to be a little...different. And I know I probably gave you the wrong impression earlier. But..." He hesitated. "I'm not just interested in sex with you, Greg. You make me want to change, you make me want to know more about you and your life...you make me want to know more about myself."

And again Greg smiled, because while Nick wasn't always one for talking, when he did, he did it so damn _well_.

"You need to be really, _really_ sure about that, Nick," Greg responded honestly.

Nick squeezed Greg's hand. "I am."

And later that night, as a perpetually chivalrous Nick Stokes walked Greg to his front door, he proved it.

Nick leaned in to kiss Greg before Greg involuntarily flinched and took a step back.

"Sorry," He whispered.

Nick took a step towards him and took both Greg's hands in his own.

"I'm not afraid of you, Honey," He whispered into Greg's ear. He leaned in, slowly, and Greg's mouth moved in almost perfect synchronicity to meet Nick's.


	7. Chapter 7

Title: Never Too Late  
Chapter: 7  
Rating: PG-13 for language  
Author's Note: I think the breaks are going to work now! At least I hope. Thank you all, so much!

"Man, what's got you in such a good mood?" Warrick asked, looking up from the evidence laid out in front of them in a brightly-lit room at the lab. Nick had been smiling all night, the kind of smile that you try to hide but simply can't. Warrick loved seeing his best friend so happy, but he hated being out of the loop.

Nick shrugged. "Can't I be in a good mood?"

"No," Warrick said simply. "Now tell me what's going on."

Nick smiled, he loved Warrick's honesty. "I'm just...happy."

"Uh-huh..." Warrick urged. When Nick didn't speak up, he continued. "What's his name?"

Nick looked around instinctively to make sure no one was in ear-shot.

When Nick had told Warrick he was gay eight years ago, simply answering Warrick's outright question of, "Man, do you like dudes?", he'd been completely delighted with Warrick's reaction of, "Cool! I'd choose men over women, too, if it wasn't for that whole penis thing." They had both laughed. Warrick made it seem so easy.

When he was younger, as a high school student, then a college student, then a rookie police officer, then a more experienced CSI, then, finally, a CSI in a state where everyone didn't know him as "Mr. and Mrs. Stokes' son", he'd gone through strange phases with his sexuality and, more importantly, his openness about his sexuality. From the time he was a teenager, he knew he liked guys. And not in a the I-can-see-myself-maybe-experimenting-with-guys-in-college type way, in the I-never-want-to-look-at-a-vagina-ever type of way. He was gay. There was no way around it. And he hated himself for it for a long time, because homosexuality was a sin, because it was unnatural, because it was something he'd always been told _not_ to be. Gay men were dirty, they were drag-queens and pedophiles, they wore paisley silk shirts. They...had AIDS.

It wasn't until he went to college that he got to know more of the world, even though he was still in his own backyard. He learned that not everyone thought the way his hyper-conservative parents did. He learned that sexuality was a random trait, not something that made you normal or abnormal. He learned that he could be himself, he could _love_ himself. He could love someone else. He could love another man.

He could lose another man.

He joined the police force out of college, and he retorted to his high school ways. Most officers were cruel, downright unfair to gay men. And with less than a year's experience under his belt, he felt he had no choice but to join them in their ridicule, hide his secrets, and he found himself turning more into his own father than he ever desired to be.

He transferred, he became a CSI. Science became his game. In the scientific world, sexuality was a genetic decision, it was as much a part of someone as brown eyes or red hair. He became comfortable again. Then he came out to his parents, and while they didn't disown him, they outwardly expressed their disapproval, their disappointment, their shame at having him as a son. It should have shook him to his core, but at that point he'd already realized that the kind of shame and guilt and depression he could put himself through was nothing compared to what anyone else could say to him.

He moved to Vegas, and he found his new life, his new job, his new friends. He found his medium - not hiding in a proverbial closet nor wearing his sexuality on his sleeve, he kept quiet until it came up. So when it came up with Warrick, his ease felt like ice cold water after dehydrated days in a desert. So he was honest with Warrick, and he never regretted it.

"I can't tell you," Nick answered finally, deciding there was no one within ear-shot.

"No fair, man!" Warrick chuckled. "Why not?"

"I just...I don't know where it's going yet. I don't want to jinx it."

Warrick nodded with a wide smile painted across his face. "Fine, but I expect all kinds of details when you know it's a sure deal."

Nick agreed.

"Just answer me this," Warrick asked.

Nick nodded.

"You like him?"

Nick smiled, more to himself than to his buddy. "More than you know, man."

- * - 

Catherine walked into Grissom's office, shutting the heavy door behind her.

"There's another, Gil," She said bluntly.

Grissom removed his glasses and took the folder Catherine offered him. He perused it with a blank stare. "No leads. Still." The defeat in his voice was almost devastating.

"It's been two months since the attacks started now, Gil. You still want to keep it on the down low?" She asked.

Grissom hesitated a moment, then nodded. "I can't put him through this, Catherine."

She nodded, she understood. Somehow, though, she couldn't shake the feeling that, perhaps, Greg had already been to hell and back.

- * -

"Hey, G!" Nick announced cheerfully. "I come bearing gifts." He handed Greg a six-pack of beer and Greg smiled at him, inviting him into his small but tidy apartment. Once inside, Nick gave Greg a small peck.

It had only been three weeks since their first date, but it seemed Nick and Greg had, or had at least _wanted_, to spend every waking hour together. It seemed so easy to be together, like it was something they'd been doing for years. Nick loved the excitement, Greg loved the security. He loved being with a man who was so completely comfortable with Greg, so completely unaffected by everything he knew. It was refreshing to Greg, it was lovely and new and a spontaneous and refreshing.

And there was something missing. And Greg knew what it was.

As Nick and Greg sat down on Greg's small couch in front of a big-screen TV and began good-humouredly trash-talking each other through several rounds of a video game, sipping their beers and occasionally pausing for a kiss, it hit Greg all over again. He still wouldn't let Nick touch him, not really. He'd gotten much more comfortable with kissing him, and he enjoyed it so much he almost didn't think about his...state. But he wouldn't let Nick's hands roam up and down his back, he wouldn't let Nick step close enough to him that he could feel Nick - _all_ of Nick. He wouldn't let themselves get carried away or caught up in lust like they should have been _able_ to. And it bothered him because it was Nick, Nick who had been so patient, so kind and accepting, so openly _unafraid_.

He glanced at Nick, so intently focused on beating Greg at the trivial video game, so completely lost in the fun they had together. It almost broke Greg's heart. He saw, in Nick, trust and acceptance and something almost like love. He wanted to touch Nick. He wanted to make love to Nick. He couldn't, and he didn't understand why.

The ringing of his cell phone pulled him from his thoughts, and he paused the game, shooting a playful smile at Nick before answering.

"Sanders."

"Greg?" A woman's voice that sounded vaguely familiar asked.

"This is he," Greg answered, a little weary.

"Greg. This is Susan Harper."

It took a moment for the name to register with Greg, and when it did his heart sank. He immediately stood from the couch and relocated to the kitchen, suddenly needing to be as far away from anyone else as possible.

"Hi," He said in a very small voice, trying to maintain a polite demeanor.

"I know we haven't spoken in a while, dear," She began before cutting herself off, apparently feeling the undertones of why as much as Greg was. "But I was wondering if you had a moment to talk about my son."

Greg physically flinched. "No," He answered immediately.

"Greg, please," She almost begged. Her needy tone, and the fact that Greg had, since the day he met her, loved the woman, kept him from hanging up. She almost cried as she spoke. "I think Liam's in trouble. I think my son is in trouble."

- * -

_ "This isn't my fault!"_

_"What do you mean this isn't your fault?" Greg screamed at the man who was not supposed to be there. Greg was having enough trouble as it was with everything, he wanted to get his belongings from the house he shared with a man he never wanted to see again and leave. Forever. Instead, when he opened the door to the small house, Liam was there, sitting on their sofa, holding a bouquet of roses between his hands and begging for Greg's forgiveness._

_"How was I supposed to know?" Liam yelled back, trying to justify unjustifiable actions._

_"You weren't! That's why monogamous couples who aren't using protection every time they fuck don't generally sleep with random man whores!" Greg screamed, too exhausted to be fighting with Liam again and too exhausted not to.__  
_

_"I thought you'd be okay with it," Liam said in a lower tone, obviously clutching at any explanation he had left._

_Greg rolled his eyes, that was simply all there was to do. "Really, Liam? You thought after years of being together - living together - I'd be okay with you fucking some guy behind my back? Or maybe you just thought I'd be okay with getting fucking AIDS, is that it?"_

_Liam took a step towards Greg who stepped backwards just as quickly. _

_"I'm sorry, baby," Liam tried, completely defeated._

_"Stop calling me that!" Greg nearly backed himself into a corner trying to get away from his once-soulmate._

_"Please don't leave, Greg." Liam actually sank to his knees, literally kneeled on the ground and begged._

_Greg just shook his head. He didn't consider Liam's plea, not for a second. The damage he'd done was irreconcilable, and it had nothing to do with their relationship any longer.___

- * - 

Greg was lying on his bed, head on the wrong end, just thinking. Wishing and hoping and thinking. He was driving himself crazy, really, but what else was he supposed to do? He'd left San Francisco for a reason, he'd moved hundreds of miles away from his family and his friends and thousands of memories, for a _reason. _He never wanted to see Liam again. He never wanted to talk to Liam again. He never wanted to see or talk to Liam's _mother_ again, and barring some sort of aneurysm that made him completely insane, he could not have imagined a situation in which he would have to see either one again.

Until that call. She'd literally begged him to listen to her, cried so hard over the phone he almost reached out to hug her. She was asking for Greg, for Greg's help. In...some way or another. She didn't know what she wanted Greg to do, and he didn't know either. Her details weren't specific. "He's losing himself," She'd said. "He's going crazy...he's going to hurt himself. Or someone else." And then there was the one huge bullet to the chest. "He's so sick, Greg. He's...deteriorating," Which was so not what Greg wanted or needed to hear. Greg became infected only a few months after Liam, apparently. If Liam was so sick, so frail, how long until _he_ became like that.

He was helpless. He didn't know what to do. And worse, overwhelmed and needing to be alone, he'd abruptly gotten off the phone with Susan and kicked Nick out of his house. Almost literally. He yelled at Nick, screamed at him to leave. And Nick, patient, kind Nick, just gathered his things and left. He could tell, somehow, that Greg needed to be alone. He almost didn't care that Greg was yelling so loudly neighbors no doubt overheard.

He felt awful. But he'd been lying on the bed for two hours, thinking. He felt sick to his stomach, he felt overwhelmed. He _needed_ Nick, and he hated the fact that he knew Nick would come running regardless of how Greg treated him earlier in the day.

"Greg...baby...are you okay?" Were Nick's first words when he picked up the phone after only one ring.

"Yes, I'm fine," Greg said defeatedly. "I'm _so_ sorry, Nicky."

"What the hell happened?"

"I...I'd rather explain it to you in person," Greg said. He knew he was asking too much, but selfishly hoped Nick would disregard that. "Will you come over here? Please?"

Nick didn't hesitate. "Yes, of course, honey. I'll be over soon."

When Nick arrived, Greg had leapt into his arms like a long-lost lover. And Nick had just wrapped strong arms around him and caressed his back. They stood for several moments before they moved to the couch, and Greg finally began talking, explaining the spanse of his ugly break-up with Liam, the call from Liam's mother, and the fact that he had no idea what to do about all of it.

"You do what feels right, G," Nick had offered once Greg was done talking. "You do what _you_ need to do. You deserve to take care of yourself, and if this is too much, you let it go. You leave it alone. You let his mom figure it out, that's her job."

Greg smiled. "Why does it sound so _easy_ when you say it like that?" He asked.

Nick smiled back, and squeezed Greg's hand, the one he'd been holding onto since Greg began talking. Well...ranting, really.

"What would you do, Nick?" Greg asked.

Nick shook his head, he contemplated, toying with a loose string on the end of one of Greg's afghans. And then he answered. "I would do what I could, honey. I would...call him, or call someone close to him, or something. I don't know, honestly."

Greg sighed. He'd been thinking that very thing since Susan called, _I have to do something_. But he didn't know what, and for a moment, he needed not to know. He wanted to take care of Nick for a moment. He wanted someone to lean on _him_. And he wanted an answer to a question that had been floating around in his head for weeks.

"Nick?" Nick looked up at him. "What was...that thing you said...a couple weeks ago." Nick didn't seem to understand. "You said you'd lost someone...to HIV. What did you mean?"

Nick immediately looked uncomfortable, and Greg took note.

"I mean, don't tell me...if you don't want to. I just...I thought..."

Nick cut him off with another squeeze of his hand and smiled at him. He took in a deep breath of air before he spoke.

"Michael." He said in a voice so soft Greg had to strain to hear it. "Michael was...we were in love. Crazy in love." He smiled bigger, remembering probably beautiful things. "It was a long time ago, early 1990s. I had just transferred to CSI in Texas when I met him. We...we were in love." Tears began to swell behind big, chocolate eyes. "He died four years after I met him. But in those four years..."

"I'm sorry, Nick," Greg said, completely sincerely.

Nick shook his head. "It's okay, it was a long time ago, G. He already had early AIDS when I met him...he lived a remarkably long time, considering. But back then...things were different and science hadn't caught up. There were drugs, but not many, and they were...awful. He stopped taking them, he chose not to live, in a way."

"A lot has changed," Greg said relfectively, almost needing to reassure himself.

"A lot has changed," Nick confirmed. "A lot. Thank God. It isn't a gay man's disease anymore, but back then, it was. And I'll almost say it was the stigma that really killed him. He was brilliant and vibrant and really, really incredible when he was healthy though, G. He was something."

There was a long moment of silence. Nick smiled, and a few tears fell. From both of them. Greg mourned for Nick, and he mourned for a man he'd never met. He had questions, millions of them, but he didn't ask. Not then.

"If I was in your place, G, and it was Michael in trouble instead of Liam..."

"No way Michael was the kind of monster Liam was," Greg interjected.

"No," Nick shook his head, a few more tears falling. "No, not at all. But Greg, you loved him like I loved Michael, and we both know that in the end, that's all that really matters.

And Greg smiled, because he knew Nick was all kinds of correct.

- * - 

"Gil!" Catherine ran to catch up with him just as he was about to leave the lab for the first time in what seemed like years. She hated to keep him behind, but she had important news to share. Tragic, terrifying, important news. "Gil," She caught up to him. "The case from San Francisco, the one linked to Greg..." It had been almost a month since they'd spoken about it last, so he nodded in confirmation. "The first three victims all recently tested HIV positive."


	8. Chapter 8

Title: Never Too Late

Chapter: 8

Rating: R

Author's Note: Sorry for the delay in posting, but thank you all for the wonderful support. Let me know if the page breaks are FINALLY working, and sorry for any prior confusion.

* * *

The almost scoldingly hot water beat down Greg's back, leaving behind a trail of beading moisture. The contrastingly cool walls of the shower felt refreshing against the skin of his palms as he leaned into them, letting water cover his head, drip over his eyes and down his face, and cascade down his body. He shut his eyes tight, keeping out both the water and the raging thoughts that were rushing like a movie reel through his mind.

_Dirty…toxic…contaminated…contagious…unloved…_

But then there was Nick, Nick who made him feel none of those things, Nick who Greg wanted to give himself to, _all_ of himself. Nick, who Greg wanted desperately to touch, to touch _him_.

Greg opened his eyes, he reached down, and then recoiled. He breathed deeply, fully, filled his lungs up completely with air and then let it go. He shut his eyes again and let them be, thin eyelids puckering over brown orbs. He reached down, this time slower. The rough skin of his hand made contact with his body what felt like hours later, and he stood, braced against the shower wall, and just felt. Felt what he hadn't in years, felt what he hadn't _allowed_ himself to feel in years, felt what…felt good.

And slowly, he thought of Nick. He thought of things he wanted to do, things he should have been able to do. He saw Nick's face, he heard Nick's voice, and he began to stroke himself, slowly, gently, uncertainly.

It had quite literally been years, seven to be exact, since he'd felt the distinctive feel of hands against very private skin. Anyone's hands. He was afraid of himself. He was afraid, in some way or another, that he was too infected, like his seed was an added hazard to the world somehow. He knew it was irrational, but the feeling became engrained in his head like knots of hair around a rubber band. And standing in the shower, stroking himself _so_ slowly, feeling the shame, but also the insurmountable pleasure, was like trying to figure out a way to untie all those knots.

_Nick…Nick…_he stroked himself harder and pressed his forehead into the shower wall. His eyes still shut tight, keeping out the intrusive thoughts, and he continued to think of Nick. He thought of Nick for the purposes of excitement, sure, but he also thought of Nick as a reason to keep his hand moving. He wanted to be able to make love to Nick, some day. He knew this was the first, agonizingly slow step.

He tightened his hold around himself, moved a little faster, and shut his eyes even tighter. He registered the sound of the water beating down his back and onto the floor of the shower and down the drain. He held his breath – close, so close – but he didn't want to climax yet. He wasn't ready, he wasn't prepared. He slowed his pace for several minutes, though the heat pooling in his core protested.

Finally, he took in a shaking breath. _Nick_. And he didn't see, but feel, as the evidence of years of holding back and wanting, and being too ashamed to _have_ coated the wall of the shower before it was quickly washed away.

Down the drain.

* * *

"It's not a death sentence anymore," A young female practitioner announced to a shaking patient somewhere in the bowels of a San Francisco free clinic. "Things have changed, you _can_ live with this."

The young man, no older than twenty-five with a mop of messy blonde hair, shook all over. His legs, his arms, his torso and hands and feet. _Not fair_, he kept repeating in his head. _Not fair not fair not fair_.

The young woman sighed, compassionate, but needing to get back to work, to other patients. She clasped her hands on her lap and spoke with a professionally accurate tone. "We'll put you in touch with the proper resources, you'll need to see a doctor that specializes in HIV as soon as possible, he'll discuss with you what to do next, okay?"

The young man stared at his shoes. His mind reeled, sweat dripped down his temples. He tried to control his breathing, which had become increasingly frantic and uneven. His chest burned from the lack of oxygen, his stomach turned and acid began to rise in his throat. His face was white, brown eyes clouded over with not tears, but fear.

_Not fair…_

* * *

Nick Stokes was falling in love. Greg Sanders wasn't far behind. And the strangest part of it all was that it was the kind of love so completely easy, so completely _un_complicated. And it should have been difficult, it should have been so complicated it was too much to handle, but there was an unspoken ease between them. Sometimes they'd stare at each other, look right into each other eyes, and communicate an unspoken, _My God, what have we gotten ourselves into_. Because Nick knew he was in deep with Greg, he knew it didn't matter if Greg was healthy or sick, strong or weak, he couldn't let him go. Not now, not ever. And Greg felt it too, he felt the unfamiliar sensation of being so completely infatuated with someone that it didn't matter what that someone did or thought or felt.

They had challenges, some the same as every couple in existence, some completely unique to two people in their situation. They still didn't follow the path their lust wanted them to take and feel every part of each other. Greg still wouldn't let Nick in all the way, emotionally or physically, but they were _working_ on it. And though it had only been two and a half months (two months, two weeks, and three days to be exact), they felt as if they'd belonged together their entire lives.

"I'm happy," Nick announced, breaking the long and comfortable silence that had filled every corner of his living room.

Nick and Greg sat, intertwined, on Nick's couch, Greg resting his head on Nick's stomach. Nick's hands stroked lazily through Greg's hair and Greg's thumb made unrecognizable patterns on some exposed skin just below Nick's belly button.

"_I'm _happy," Greg echoed.

"Greg?" Nick said after another silence.

"Hm."

"You know I'll wait for you…right?"

Greg sat up on his elbow so that he could look Nick in the eye. "What do you mean?"

"I'll wait…as long as you want. Until you feel comfortable. I'll wait."

Nick's eyes conveyed complete sincerity, and Greg smiled. He knew what Nick meant, he meant that the lack of intimate contact, the way Greg recoiled whenever Nick's hands stroked down his back just a little too far or the way Nick nearly bit through his bottom lip every time Greg said "good night", leaving Nick wanting _so much more_, was not going to scare him away. It was not going to get too frustrating or too complicated or too much work for not enough profit.

"You're amazing," Was all Greg said, and he leaned in to give Nick a small peck before moving his head back to its comfortable place atop Nick's stomach.

"I'm going to call him," Greg announced slowly. "Tomorrow, I think."

"Liam?"

"Yes. Maybe he'll tell me what's going on, maybe I can help him in some way or another." Greg toyed with a loose strand on Nick's shirt. "Maybe not. I don't know, but I have to try, right?"

Nick leaned over and placed a long kiss on Greg's hair. "You do whatever feels right, G. And if you need me, I'm here."

Greg smiled into the exposed skin of Nick's stomach and they relished, once again, in a comfortable silence.

"Hey Nick?" Greg asked.

"Yeah, baby."

"I love you."

It was Nick's turn to smile, a grin almost bigger than the relief he felt to hear Greg say those three simple words.

"I love you too, Greg."

* * *

Catherine slammed the door of Grissom's office so loudly it made him jump. Heels made a clicking noise into the tile floor as she walked, intently, to his desk and dropped a file on top of several open textbooks.

"Another, Gil," She said simply.

Grissom slowly removed his reading glasses and closed the textbook in front of him. He opened his mouth as if to speak and then shut it again, closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath.

"If we don't act now, Gil, we're going to regret it. More people will get hurt. Greg could get hurt. If nothing else, he holds the key to this entire investigate, Grissom, and we've waited too long as it is."

Grissom knew she was right, she was always right somehow. He hated it. Moreso, he hated that he _had_ waited long enough, and he had no choice but to dismantle his team, again, and shuffle through Greg's personal life with him.

"Okay," Was all Grissom said. "Where is he?"

"Off tonight," Catherine huffed.

"Fine," Grissom said in his usual, matter-of-fact tone. "Get Nick, bring him in here. Warrick and Sara are on a case and I'm not willing to wait until next shift to get a jump on this."

Catherine gave him a that's-what-I've-been-trying-to-tell-you-for-months eye roll and left to retrieve Nick. She returned moments later, a jumpsuit-clad Texan trailing behind her. Car grease was splattered in random patches across his face and he wiped the grease from between his fingers with a rag as he sat down in one of the two chairs opposite Grissom's desk. Catherine closed the door before joining Nick in the other chair.

"What's up, boss?" Nick asked, wondering what was so important that Catherine had felt the need to nearly yank him out from underneath the car he'd been processing from the previous shift.

"Nick, I want you to forget about whatever cases you're working right now. Have Hodges take over the auto if it's important." Grissom rested his glasses back on the brim of his nose and opened the file in front of him.

"Okay…" Nick wondered.

"This case is your new priority. There are semen samples in evidence, get them to whoever is in DNA tonight as soon as possible. Then get on the phone with San Francisco PD, I want you to talk to the detective covering the case and whichever CSIs you can reach, got it?"

"What's this about, Griss?" Nick's eyes shifted from Grissom to Catherine, feeling an all-too-familiar, disconcerting sense of urgency.

"Greg may be in trouble," Catherine interjected when Grissom said nothing.

Nick's heart nearly stopped, his breath hitched in his throat. _No_, he thought. _No no no, not Greg…_He blinked, trying to show no more emotion for the younger CSI than he would if it was any other of his coworkers, trying to chase the thoughts from his mind, trying to get the images of a lifeless Greg lying on an autopsy table out of his head, trying…

"Nick," Grissom's voice startled him. "Think you can handle it?"

Nick nodded and tried to swallow the lump in his throat.

"Good. Catherine and I need to get to a case on the Strip, so you'll be solo. Let me tell you what this is about."

_That would make sense, Grissom_, Nick thought, though there was an overwhelming part of him that didn't _want_ to know what it was about.

"A few months ago, SFPD contacted us about a string of assaults they'd recently had–"

"Months?" Nick asked, trying not to sound too accusing. "This has been going on for months? Why has no one mentioned it before?" His eyes once again darted back and forth between his two bosses.

"We were waiting to see where it went, Nick," Catherine defended. "We thought they might be able to handle it on their own or they might catch a break…we didn't want to bring Greg into it unless we absolutely had to."

Nick nodded, his frustration mellowed. He thought of his boyfriend, of the man he'd said "I love you" to just a few hours earlier. He thought of everything Greg had been through already, both with the Las Vegas crime lab and outside of it. His heart wrenched and he fought to remain composure.

Grissom continued. "There have been eight victims so far, all young white males, all with blonde hair and brown eyes, all work in science in one way or another, and all raped and beaten within inches of their lives."

Acid rose in Nick's throat as a subconscious part of himself began to piece together what was about to be revealed.

"At first SFPD thought they were unrelated, but all the victims tell a similar story. They were all attacked at night in alleys, mostly behind clubs or restaurants, and all say they were attacked by two men, approximately late thirties, both white, one with blonde hair, one with brown hair…very muscular," He read from the chart in front of him and then closed it, once again removing his glasses to make eye contact with Nick. "They all report that the two attackers used Greg's name, first and last. They were violently beaten and the two men took turns raping the victims for upwards of an hour."

Both Catherine and Nick involuntarily shuttered.

"Until recently," Grissom continued, "There was nothing about the case that seemed particularly odd or uncharacteristic. But, at this point, four of the eight victims have tested HIV positive, and we expect at least some of the other victims and any future victims to do the same."

This time Nick had to swallow the vomit rising in his esophagus to keep from throwing up. His clenched fists were the only evidence of the racing thoughts going through his head, but he struggled to keep it that way. He tried to breath, hoping Grissom would be done with his briefing soon so he could excuse himself to try to regain his professionalism.

"Our leads are scarce, Nick," Grissom continued. "SFPD ran the DNA through CODIS and got no hits, but maybe we'll get lucky and they'll be in the system now. We do have a potential first name for one of the men, though. The first victim reported hearing one of the men refer to the other as–"

"Liam." Nick finished Grissom's sentence in a tiny voice, garnering looks from both Grissom and Catherine.

"Yes," Grissom said suspiciously. "Liam is correct. Now do you want to tell me how you know that?" He said sternly.

And Nick almost didn't hear him, because he was thinking about Greg and everything he'd been through already and…oh God, how he was about to make a call to the very man he was secretly discussing with his colleagues.

Nick shook his head. "No," He answered honestly. He stood up abruptly. "Have someone else take the samples to DNA," Nick instructed. "And call SFPD, tell them to get a squad together. I can have an address for you within the hour. I'll call you when I know."

With that, Nick nearly ran out of the office, leaving two dumbfounded CSIs behind him, exited the lab and jogged to his truck, speeding off in the direction of Greg's apartment.

* * *

"Greg! Greg!" Nick was pounding on Greg's door with his fists. He punched the number he knew by heart into his cell phone and was about to press send when an obviously sleep-arisen Greg opened the door in sweatpants and nothing else. The image sent sparks down his spine, but he focused, panting from the hurried running he'd done to get to Greg in time to save him from…whatever.

"Nick, is everything okay?" Greg asked worriedly.

"Inside," Nick choked between shallow breaths, and Greg moved to the side, inviting Nick into his small living room.

"Do you need some water or something, cowboy?" Greg joked, shamefully enjoying the sight of an out-of-breath, red-faced Nick.

"You didn't call him yet…" Nick said, confirming rather than questioning.

"Who, Liam? No, not yet."

Greg moved into the kitchen where he took down a water glass from a high cabinet and filled it with water from his refrigerator door before handing it to Nick who took it graciously and thanked Greg.

"Why do you ask?" Greg said once Nick had managed to breathe again.

"Greg, honey, sit down." Nick's tone changed from urgent to concerned, and Greg did as he was told.

"Nick, please…tell me what's going on."

And Nick did just that, grasping Greg's hand between his palms as he spoke.

When Nick finished his empathetic speech, finished telling Greg about the rapes and the victims testing HIV positive and the name the victim had given, Greg's mouth hung open and his eyes almost seemed incapable of closing. He looked, truly, shocked. And Nick could imagine why, because Greg had been through so much with Liam already, because Greg had been through so much already _period_.

"Nick…God," Greg finally said, voice shaking. "How…when…_God_."

"I know," Nick said soothingly.

"Well…but how…" Greg took a deep breath and trying to piece his thoughts together. "What do they need me to do?"

"I need a name from you, honey, that's all. Liam's full name, and his partner's if you know it."

Greg nodded as he tried to wrap his head around everything. _Eight_ victims. Eight victims of a violent, horrible crime. Eight victims of a violent, horrible crime perpetrated by a man Greg once knew as being his everything, his future, his life. And, somehow…it was his fault.

"Liam Harper," Greg finally said surrenderingly. "And Jeremy. Jeremy…Brooks, I think. Last I knew of they lived in Castro," He finished in a small voice.

"Thank you, baby." Nick gave Greg's hand a squeeze before standing up. "I have to get back to the lab and give them these names, G, so they can track down the addresses. You'll be okay?"

Greg nodded.

Nick gave him a warm, empathetic smile before he walked to the door.

"Nick?"

Nick turned and faced his boyfriend. Greg leaned forward into his knees and knotted his hands. He shook his head. "My God."

* * *

Greg found sleep very difficult. He'd only been asleep for a couple hours when Nick knocked, or pounded actually, on his door. Yet he couldn't get back to sleep. He'd been tossing and turning, trying to get comfortable, since Nick left. For hours he'd been shifting positions and moving around pillows trying to get back to sleep. But he had no success.

Finally, he frustratedly grunted into his pillow and decided giving up was probably the best option. He walked into the kitchen, scratching the back of his head as he walked, and took down a glass from one of his cabinets with the intention of filling it with water.

It wasn't until he heard a rustling behind him that he spun around to face the living room, dropping the glass onto the hard tile floor. It shattered, but Greg froze.

"Hey there, Greg," A low voice spoke, sending chills down Greg's spine. A slightly taller, more muscular man arose from Greg's couch and began slowly walking towards Greg, who still couldn't quite figure out how to move. "Miss me?"

Greg's hands shook and sweat beaded on his forehead.

"Liam…"


	9. Chapter 9

Author: Damienne Ross

Title: Never Too Late

Chapter: 9

Rating: PG-13 for violence

Author's Note: A sincere thank you to everyone who's left such wonderful comments.

"Liam…"

"I asked you a question, Greg. It's rude to ignore people. Did you miss me?"

The suddenly terrifying man walked towards Greg slowly, holding his arms out to his sides like a gorilla.

If it hadn't been for his voice and a series of completely unhideable facial features, Greg wouldn't have recognized him. Once a fit, muscular, six foot, one inch man with an athlete's body, he now looked like the washed up remains of a once high school superstar. His toned arms and muscular neck gave way to flesh and bone, and nothing else. His once perfect body was now covered in nothing but sagging skin and loosely hung clothing Greg could almost see his ribs through. Dark circles rested under tired, bloodshot eyes and wrinkles lined a once flawlessly boyish face.

He was unrecognizable. He was a stranger.

"H-how did you get in here?" Greg asked, gulping. His feet were frozen in place though his mind told him to move.

Liam shrugged. "The front door, kid. You should be more careful to lock it once that hot boyfriend of yours leaves, no? I mean…you don't want someone dangerous getting in here."

With that, Liam turned the lock on Greg's doorknob nonchalantly as he walked by it until it made a familiar clicking sound, the sound that had previously let Greg know he was safe and now let him know he was trapped.

Greg shut his eyes for a moment. He did forget to lock it once Nick left. He was too overwhelmed with everything to even think of it, he was too busy thinking about Liam and the horrendous things he'd done, too busy feeling…vulnerable. Afraid. Wasn't that ironic.

"You wouldn't talk to me when I saw you a couple months ago, kid. I figured, what the hell, I'd just come down here and see you myself."

Liam swiped a long finger over Greg's kitchen table, creating a soft swiping noise that cut into Greg like a knife. Adrenaline shot through him, but still he couldn't move.

"What…what did you want to talk about?" _Calm, Greg, keep calm…_

"Oh…this and that…"

Liam picked up the water glass Nick had used only a few hours earlier and held it up to the light as if examining it for secrets. He looked at it for a few moments before losing interest and putting it back on the table where he found it.

"Mostly," he continued, shrugging, "I just wanted to catch up with you, kid. Is that so wrong?"

Greg shuddered. It had been years since he'd heard the pet name his onetime-boyfriend used to call him. 'Kid' was Liam's way of teasing Greg, making him feel young and vital and, now that he thought about it, inexperienced, painfully innocent, and _so_ vulnerable.

Greg shook his head.

"Good!" Liam screeched. He pulled a wooden chair from its resting place under Greg's kitchen table and straddled it backwards. "So then tell me what you've been up to, there, Greg?"

Greg didn't answer. His vocal cords seemed as frozen as his feet.

Liam cocked his head to one side. "Fine. Shall I start?" Greg didn't move. "Excellent! Let's see…what's new in my life… I got a new job, but that's no fun to talk about…new house…new car…the dog died, though…"

Liam stopped, looked up at Greg and smiled. Not the kind of warm, comforting smile Nick gave him or the playful, teasing one he used to get from the man now making Greg shake so hard he thought he might topple over. No, this smile was the kind of smile that made him think, _Greg, if you don't move, you're going to be on Doc Robbins table in a matter of hours…_

"Greg? Now I haven't turned you off, have I?"

Greg shook his head violently like a small child trying to hide a trail of forbidden cookie crumbs.

There was silence for a tedious moment. Liam glanced up at Greg's ceiling, seeing something only he could understand. Greg grew scared of the silence and began to pull himself out of his trance. He shifted his feet slightly backwards and moved his hands to his sides. He stepped slowly, and then again…

"Your mother called me the other day, Liam," Greg spoke in the tone he'd heard Nick or Catherine use when trying to calm a dangerous suspect. "She misses you…she's concerned about you."

"Oh, she shouldn't be," Liam announced, still staring at the ceiling. "I'll be fine…everything will be fine soon."

His tone sent shivers up and down Greg's body as he consciously decided not to analyze what that statement might imply.

Greg continued stepping backwards, slowly, until he felt his palms touch the firm wood of the kitchen cabinets. He took one more small step back, and the bare skin of his left foot crunched onto a sharp piece of broken glass, creating a sound too small to be heard had the deafening silence in the room not have been present. Liam looked at Greg instantly, his eyes almost shooting fire.

"My mother loved you, Greg," Liam spoke suspiciously, getting up from the chair and taking tiny steps again, inches at a time, towards Greg. "Tell me, what did she say to the man she once thought would be her son-in-law?"

Greg gulped, and sweat dripped down his temples, but his tone was steady. "She…she said she needed my help. She thinks you're in trouble, she thinks you need help…she thought I might be able to do something."

Liam nodded vigorously. "Yes, _yes_," He spoke, tone so dubiously calm it made the hair on the back of Greg's neck stand up. "As it is, though, Greg, it's seems to be…too late to do anything about it now…"

Liam stopped at the place where Greg's kitchen counters ended and began toying with the tips of the handles of Greg's knives, all resting in specified slots in the wood holder he suddenly _really _regretted putting there.

Greg was sure Liam could hear his heartbeat, sure he could see Greg's cheeks flush bright red and the sweat pour down his temples and the rapid rise and fall of his chest. Greg moved his hands, slowly, over the smooth surface of faux granite countertop and tried to remember what he couldn't see, tried to think of where he would have put a used butter knife, dirtied salad tongs, keys dropped casually on his way to the fridge for a snack…

"Is it too late because of the eight young men you raped, Liam?" Greg asked, still steady and calm.

Liam shook his head slowly. "No," He said forcefully. "No, that had to be done."

Roaming fingers…all he felt was cool linoleum…

"And why did that have to be done, Liam?"

Liam focused in on a long, slender knife and pulled it from the wooden holder with a sharp, high-pitched slice. He held it up to the light and observed it.

"They reminded me of you, kid," Liam spoke calmly. "They had to be punished."

Greg's mind reeled, and he fought for it to remain focused on the task at hand. "I had to be punished, Liam?"

Liam nodded, turning the blade of the knife over and over in his hands.

Greg's thumb came in contact with a hard, cylindrical object. A handle, maybe? _A handle to what, Greg, think_.

"And why do I need to be punished, Liam?"

Liam shrugged but no other part of him moved. "It's your fault."

The words cut into Greg superficially, not like the blade of a knife could. He focused, keeping his thumb on the unidentified cylindrical object as his other fingers continued to roam.

"And how is it my fault, Liam?"

Again a shrug. Liam stared at the knife, almost as if communicating with it.

"If it wasn't for you, Greg…I could be happy."

Greg squinted. "How is that?"

Liam ran the sharp edge of the blade over his left pointer finger with his right hand, slowly revealing a trail of crimson in its wake. Greg's eyes followed his movements, though his hands still roamed behind his back on the countertops.

"You left me," Liam spoke with more emotion than Greg had heard so far. "Apparently I'm dying, kid. Or so I've been told." He brought the bloodied finger to his mouth and sucked it into the confines behind his lips. "Doc says I probably have a few months to live. Apparently…" He gave his finger one final lick, "You die of AIDS."

Somewhere in Greg's subconscious, those words sliced deeper than a knife ever could, but his hands remembered their task.

"Remember though, Liam?" Greg's voice was even and soothing. "It was Jeremy who infected you, not me. Not those eight young men, Liam, they all have promising futures ahead of them."

"Oh," Liam shook his head and held the knife tip-up, staring at it and not Greg. "But Jeremy and I both agree, it's your fault, Greg. You're the reason I'll die."

Greg thought hard, feeling an impending sense of claustrophobia as the man he once said "I love you" to every night before he went to sleep walked towards him slowly, knife held straight up in his bloodied left hand.

"Why is that?" Greg nearly whispered.

Liam tilted his head and icy eyes glistened almost brighter than the shimmer of light off the blade of a knife.

"Because you're the reason I lived…"

Liam wielded, and Greg lunged, capturing the only opportunity he saw. Grabbing the object he held firmly in his shaking hand he aimed to slash across Liam's throat.

Moments later, blood flew, and it took Greg several moments to figure out whose it was. He reminded himself to return to his body, realizing that the only pain he felt was the sharp cut on the bottom of his bare foot and the burning in his chest from lack of oxygen. He looked up slowly and saw Liam clutch at his throat with his right hand as his left tried to grab on to whatever it could. His fingers latched around the nearly empty spice rack parallel to Greg's refrigerator, before Liam finally collapsed to the floor.

Blood pooled on white tile. Blood filled with the small enemy that had caused so much pain already.

_

* * *

_

_The cold night air hit Nick's face as he leaned over the railing, bracing himself with one foot in front of the other. Solid, large hands intertwined across the metal, keeping him grounded, but his mind was floating somewhere far above his body, far above the fourth story apartment he once shared with a man he was almost painfully in love with. _

_Behind him, inside a sliding glass door, making indentations on red wine stained carpeting, boxes sat mundanely stacked, one on top of the other. In the boxes were objects of various kinds, from towels to kitchenware, photos to books. The walls once covered with the photos Michael had hung in matching opaque black frames were now barren. The offset sage green walls of his bedroom now played host to nothingness, the bed and dresser and desk and the hundreds of small trinkets that Nick and Michael playfully picked up at random points were now sitting lifelessly in those boxes, the ones Nick couldn't stand to look at. _

_Nick was literally hiding from the warm, though somehow very cold sanctuary of his apartment, and instead sought refuge on the small deck he and Michael used to love sitting on, drinking a glass of wine, just being with each other. Now, it felt different. Everything felt different. It was abnormally cold, even for December, as if even the Dallas air knew something had changed. Nick stared at the view that had never been anything impressive, except once a year; at Christmas. Once a year, lights went up all around town, and you could see them from the small deck. You could see the bright red and green and white specks that seemed to light up the entire town, and you could smell the scent of beautiful things cooking around them, and you could almost feel the spirit of a season when things were just supposed to go right._

_And Nick caught himself wondering how things ended up so wrong._

_Michael had been gone for three weeks, officially. Though Nick knew he'd been gone for months before then. Nick watched as Michael slowly gave up on his health, his doctors, himself. Nick watched as the vibrant, charismatic man he was so, so in love with sunk into a state of ending. His body deteriorated, fat and muscle evaporated, the dark circles under his eyes became permanent. It took a day's worth of energy for him to work up the strength to speak a few words. And still until the very end, Nick still believed that, somehow, Michael would be okay, and they would go back to normal, and he wouldn't be alone on Christmas Eve night staring at the city that was feeling less and less like home and praying for the man he loved to come back. Just for a moment, just for a kiss, just for an "I love you". _

_The wind bit his nose and gooseflesh rose on his uncovered arms. Behind him, inside, was his past. He didn't have to give up the apartment he once loved so much, he didn't have to leave it all behind. But he couldn't stand to live alone in a place meant for two, he couldn't stand to stare at walls that whispered of memories and floors that creaked with overuse and objects that nearly spoke stories. _

_He couldn't stand being alone. _

_He bowed his head and rested it between his thumbs as grief rushed to his brain like blood. He cried, he cried for a long time, he cried tears he wouldn't have guessed he had left. _

"_I miss you. So much," Nick spoke in strangled words to the wind. "I want you here, Michael, I need you here. I don't know what to do without you, baby, I don't know how to act. You taught me how to act, Michael, you taught me how to live and enjoy and not be afraid to be myself. You taught me to love, Michael, and I miss you. So much. Too much."_

_Sobs racked his body, shaking him to the core in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with the cold weather. He couldn't stop memories from coursing through him, not now, not staring out at the same view he saw so many times with the man he knew so well. Not remembering that time, a few weeks after they met, when Michael was complaining about the commercialism of Christmas and the fake spirit, and Nick took him by the hand and they walked. He showed Michael all the lights strung from people's houses and the children laughing and the themed music always ringing somewhere in the background. And that became their Christmas, their tradition, the thing they did every year that reminded them of what was, honestly, important. _

_Nick took a quavering breath and shook his head slowly. "It doesn't feel like Christmas at all without you, baby."_

* * *

"Nick!" Sara ran up behind him, startling Nick from his worry-induced state. It had been three hours since Nick had alerted San Francisco PD to the whereabouts of the two perpetrators of the awful crime. SFPD had called back an hour later saying that they'd found one of the men, a burly guy named Jeremy Brooks, sleeping in his home, but that the other suspect was still at large.

Nick had had a sinking feeling as soon as he found out Liam wasn't with his little partner in crime. He'd called Greg immediately, but Greg hadn't answered. Nick left a message for him to call him back as soon as possible before proceeding to call him again three more times in the following ten minutes. The fact that Greg, who practically had his phone painted on his body, wasn't answering made Nick a nervous wreck. Grissom had insisted Nick calm down and let Greg be, they'd go check on him later should the need arise, and so Nick had made himself comfortable in the layout room where he had been staring at the same four photos for at least an hour, not even processing what was in front of him.

"Nick," Sara announced again, placing a light right hand on Nick's shoulder. "We found Liam." The tone of her voice made Nick nauseous.

"Where is he?" Nick asked cautiously.

"Dead," she said eerily. "Greg killed him, Nick."

Nick froze, his hand clenched around a pencil that broke under the pressure.

"What?"

"Greg called Brass a few minutes ago. Apparently Liam got into his house somehow and came at him, Greg killed him in self-defense and that's all we know right now." She pulled at his shirt. "Come on, we're meeting Greg at the hospital. He needs to be checked out and we need to take his statement."

Nick nodded, though he was entirely sure his heart was in his throat. Greg…killed…attacked by that monster because…oh God…Nick had left the door unlocked. It was his fault. Greg was attacked by the man who'd already done so much harm because of Nick, and…

"Nick, let's go!" Sara said forcefully, pulling Nick from his thoughts. He nodded and gathered his things, so completely lost in guilt and worry that he hardly registered any of the drive to the hospital.

He barely comprehended walking into the hospital or asking the young nurse where to find Greg or Sara's dialogue that he wasn't listening to a word of. All he could think of was Greg. He needed to see Greg, he just needed to see that he was okay. He couldn't touch him or hold him or apologize profusely like he wanted, but he could _see_ that Greg was still alive and breathing.

Greg looked up immediately when Nick and Sara entered the sterile hospital room. Even from several feel away they could see that his hands were shaking and his face was pale white. When he saw Nick small, hidden tears seemed to arise in the corners of his chocolate eyes, but he held them back as Sara approached to give him a comforting hug. Nick didn't know what to do, so he just placed a firm hand on Greg's shoulder and traced a pattern with his thumb that Sara couldn't see.

Greg shook as Sara took his statement, his unsteady legs nearly vibrated from underneath his hospital-supplied lightweight gown. He kept making eye contact with Nick, who was simply watching him for any signs of trauma. Every time their eyes met, something flashed behind Greg's eyes.

"Sara, would you mind getting me some water?" Greg asked finally, interrupting her mid-sentence.

She looked up at him, wide-eyed. "Of course, Greg. I'll be right back."

As soon as Sara was out of the room, Greg was in Nick's arms, sobbing into his shoulder and soaking the cloth of Nick's shirt. Nick's hands roamed up and down Greg's back in comforting movements.

"Shh, G, it's okay. Everything's okay," He soothed.

"I k-killed him, Nick," Greg choked.

"You had to, honey. You had no choice. You did the right thing, G."

Feeling Greg's body tremble underneath him was devastating to Nick. He wanted to make the pain go away, he wanted Greg to be okay and to _know_ that he didn't do anything wrong. That everything was fine.

"I'm sorry, G," Nick said once Greg had calmed a little. His face was still buried in Nick's shoulder, needing to feel Nick's heat more than anything else.

"For what?" Greg asked so softly Nick almost didn't hear him.

"I shouldn't have left you alone, honey. I should have stayed with you or had someone else come stay with you, I should have known better. I'm so sorry, G."

Greg looked up at Nick, his tear-stained cheeks puffy and red. He wiped any remaining tears from his eyes with the back of his hand before giving Nick a small smile.

"You didn't do anything wrong, Nicky," Greg reassured, though it was not nearly enough to convince Nick he was right.

A few moments passed before Greg wiped the remaining tears from his eyes, knowing Sara would return soon, and chuckled an apology for soaking Nick's shirt.

Nick smiled at him. "Sara has to finish here, honey. But when she's done, I'm going to take you home to my place and you are going to stay with me until you feel okay going home. Okay?"

Greg smiled and nodded in agreement, because that was _so_ more than okay.


	10. Chapter 10

Title: Never Too Late

Chapter: 10

Rating: PG-13 for language and some sexual themes

Author's Note: So sorry for the delay in posting! Midterms. Need I say more? Enjoy!

In the past few hours, Greg had gone through more emotions and psychological changes than a woman throughout all nine months of pregnancy. Grief turned to anger which turned to relief which turned to fear. He sat on Nick's couch, then stood, then laid on the cold wood floor, then stood again just trying to figure out how he _should_ be feeling. But nothing was coming to him, no resolution would find him, because there wasn't a Google search he could run or a book he could buy on how to deal with the aftermath of killing the man you once loved after he attacked you in your own home. And he would have felt completely lost and alone, had it not been for Nick who, despite having no idea what to do or say, was somehow managing to be exactly what Greg needed.

After he'd been evaluated by a doctor and interviewed by psychologists and detectives alike, Greg had been released on the premise that he not go home until the evidence had been completely processed and the "crime scene" had been released. He'd briefly considered the fact that there was also a dead body on his kitchen floor, but was far too confused to fully process that fact. He took Nick up on his offer - demand, really - and agreed to stay with him until everything was sorted out. The team was already at Greg's apartment processing by the time Nick got him into the passenger seat of his truck.  
Nick hadn't known what to say at first, and it showed. The car ride to Nick's house was twenty minutes of completely awkward silence, and it wasn't until Greg was safely inside his front door and blankly staring at Nick's floor, trying to decide where to start with his emotions, that Nick was behind him, holding him in a tight embrace, whispering simply "I'm here for you, whatever you need me to do". And that was more than enough for Greg, and his dramatic series of conflicting thoughts rushed over him like an ocean tide.

"I'm sorry," Nick sighed. It was the first time either of them had spoken in upwards of ten minutes. Greg was now lying on his back on Nick's floor, and Nick sat on the couch bending over with his hands clasped between his legs.

"What do you have to be sorry for?" Greg asked.

"I shouldn't have told you to call him, I should have known better, G. I'm so sorry."

Greg sat up and looked at Nick. "Nicky, please don't feel guilty. There's no way you could have known. And besides, I didn't even have to call him. He was still after me."

Nick nodded, though Greg knew he would continue to blame himself. Greg curled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms protectively around them.  
"I don't know how to feel here, Nick," Greg nearly whispered.

Nick got off the couch and joined Greg on the floor, pulling him into his arms. He kissed the top of Greg's head as the same tears that had been falling off and on began to trail down Greg's face again.

"There's no right or wrong way to feel here, G," Nick reassured. "You went through something horrible today, there's no protocol for this. You just...feel however you want to feel. We can sort through it all later."

Greg smiled. _We_, he thought. _I like that_.

* * *

_"How long have you known?" Greg said in a defeatedly small voice. His back was turned to Liam who had been standing at the front door, hand on the knob and about to leave, for at least a whole minute. Greg didn't want to talk to him anymore, not then or ever, and he didn't really want to know the answer. But he had to.__  
_

_"A couple months," Liam answered in an equally small voice.__  
_

_Greg flinched. Months. He didn't want to bring up that Liam could have told him or that he could have at least insisted on using condoms, he could have reminded Liam that having unprotected intercourse knowing you are HIV positive and not letting your partner know was classified as a crime. A serious crime. But he didn't, because it didn't matter anymore.__  
_

_"You'll die, you know," Was all Greg could think to say. It was cold and far below the belt and the implications of that statement hit himself harder than they could ever hit Liam, but it was all there was to say.__  
_

_Liam sighed, but nothing else on his body moved. His hand still grasped the cold golden metal of the doorknob.__  
_

_"I know."__  
_

* * *

"My God," Sara said, taking in for the first time the scene the rest of the team was already processing.

Catherine nodded but didn't make eye contact. She was knelt on the floor beside the huge blood pool that created an outline of the body David had taken away only minutes before. She took a break from photographing to rub the bridge of her nose between he fingers, shaking her head slightly.  
"Grissom is processing the rest of the apartment and Warrick is with Jim talking to the neighbors. Want to start fingerprinting?"

Sara nodded, her eyes darting throughout the apartment. The beginning smells of decomposition wafted up her nose along with the faint aroma of coffee. Greg's coffee.

"How is he?" Catherine asked as Sara opened her kit for the fingerprint powder.

She shrugged. "Hard to say. The doctor says he's fine, physically, and they released him which is good. Nick took him to his place, he'll stay there until we release the scene."

Catherine nodded and they worked in silence for many moments before either one of them spoke again.

Finally, Sara sighed, put the brush and jar of fingerprint powder on Greg's counter, and peeled off her gloves. "Why would he do this?" She asked simply.  
Catherine shook her head slowly and began to speak before Grissom's voice from just a few feet from Sara startled them both.

"He was confused," Grissom said in his usual business-like tone. "He was conflicted, he thought Greg was to blame for something, he acted the only way he knew how, and..." Grissom's rational tone gave way to raw emotion. He shrugged sadly. "And that's all we'll ever know, really. It's tragic, when a man hates himself so much that he can't stand to accept the life only he is responsible for. He had to blame Greg because he could stand to blame himself."

Catherine and Sara both nodded but stared only at the floor.

Finally, Sara asked aloud what they had all been wondering. "The HIV, do you think..."

"Not our business," Grissom interjected sternly. "We don't need to know. All we know is that Greg will need us, and we need to focus on proving this was in self-defense. The DA and Ecklie both are going to be all over this, and for now all I want us to worry about is proving that Greg had no choice but to kill him. Understood?"

Both Sara and Catherine nodded again, all further thoughts of very serious implications of Liam's attacks forced out of their minds to make room for evidence collection. Grissom was right, they needed something more than Greg's testimony and the circumstantial evidence they had if they were going to keep Greg out of the courtroom.

They slowly went back to processing and Grissom left to take their first batch of evidence back to the lab. Neither Sara nor Catherine spoke again for a very long time, though unanswered questions still hung in the air like the metallic scent of blood.

* * *

Several hours later, Greg was no less confused or conflicted. He still felt relief and horror and something like filth clouding his space, but also clouding his space for a good half an hour was Nick, intertwined with him, open-mouthed and out of breath as they made out viciously enough for Greg to think it might somehow help him sort everything out. He had no such luck, and the only thing he was feeling was a stinging lust and a burning desire for more. More he couldn't have. More he really, _really_ wanted to have.

"Stop," Greg announced as Nick's hand grazed the bare skin under his shirt. He forcefully detached their lips and pushed at Nick's chest to create some distance between them.

"I...sorry," Nick said immediately.

Greg rubbed his forehead in his palm. "No...it's okay, Nicky. You should be able to...I should be okay with..."

Nick silenced him by slowly rubbing his palm against the small of Greg's back. Greg sighed and looked up at him.

"Why is it you don't want me to touch you, G?" Nick asked softly, tilting his head slightly to one side.

Greg sighed. That question was too complex to answer. "I don't know, Nick. It's not you...I mean, I _want_ you to touch me, but everytime we go just a little too far I..."

"Spook," Nick finished.

Greg nodded.

"I guess I feel contaminated," Greg confided. "I worry that, somehow, I'll infect you or something. I know it's stupid, I can't transmit it to you just from skin to skin contact, I _know _that, but...it's been a really long time since I've felt like I'm not toxic, Nick, and I guess it just takes a little while to learn to remember that I'm not as toxic as I think I am."

Nick's heart nearly broke at Greg's words, and he tried to imagine what it would be like to live constantly feeling like a threat. He remembered Michael, and his vitality and charisma and unafraidness, and how that all gave way to fear and self-loathing and the very look on Greg's face just then. He wanted to make Greg realize that he wasn't _that_, he was so much better than he thought he was.

Nick sighed. "Can I tell you something, G?"

Greg looked at him with tear-brimming eyes and nodded.

"When Michael and I first met, and we started having sex, at first I thought, 'This is dangerous, right? This has to be dangerous.' But then as time went on, I realized that the only real danger in this world - the only kind that can truly paralyze us - is the danger involved in forgetting what matters. Michael mattered, my love for him mattered. My love for _you_ matters, Greg, and I know it's going to take a lot of work to make you believe that you are wonderful and worthy and so completely fantastic. But until then, what I can do is try to convince you that I am on your side, and I will take every step with you so long as you want me there. Kay?"

Greg nodded, a heart-felt, smiling nod as saline drops trailed down his face. He kissed Nick, and he felt, for the first time in a long time, no fear.

* * *

_"My God, kid," Liam said throatily as he maneuvered his way off of Greg and onto the empty spot in the bed beside him.__  
_

_"Mmm," Greg hummed in agreement, unable to form words, still coming down from a pleasure-induced high.__  
_

_"I've gotta tell you, Greg, I'm surprised you can still be that good considering how crappy you've been feeling lately."__  
_

_Greg nodded. He was surprised too. With the fatigue and weight loss and general sense of illness, he and Liam had been on a bit of a sex hiatus. He was __hugely happy it was over, though, and he expressed this by placing an open mouthed kiss to the back of Liam's hand.__  
_

_Liam brought his other hand to Greg's face and began stroking slowly with the back of his fingers. His right leg draped possessively over Greg's, which were happily resting under the weight of Liam's more muscular limbs. __  
_

_"I love doing that with you," Liam nearly whispered, fingers tucking a piece of lose blonde hair behind Greg's ear.__  
_

_Greg smiled cockily. "I know."__  
_

_Liam gave him a small, playful kick inducing laughter from both of them before returning his attention to Greg's face. __  
_

_"I mean it," He whispered. "There's something about it...it's not just 'cause it's sex. It's more than sex. With you it's like...magic."__  
_

_Greg would have given Liam crap for the cheesy line if he wasn't so enthralled by it. They shared a gentle kiss.__  
_

_"I think...we should get married."__  
_

_Greg stared at him, half trying to figure out if he was kidding, and half _really_ wanting him not to be.__  
_

_"And how do you expect that to work, loverboy?" He teased. "We aren't allowed to get married, remember?"__  
_

_"Well not officially, but that doesn't mean I can't confess my smitten love for you in front of two-hundred people, right?"__  
_

_Greg didn't say anything, just continued smiling up at his boyfriend...erm, fiance?__  
_

_"We're looking at an outdoor venue on Wednesday. You're going to love it. Three o'clock."__  
_

_Greg's smile widened. "You've been thinking about this?"__  
_

_Liam nodded. "A lot."__  
_

_It took Greg a moment to regain logical thought. "I have a doctor's appointment at two thirty, remember? You made the appointment. Meet you there afterwards?"__  
_

_Liam nodded, and Greg's heart swelled with happiness.__  
___

___

* * *

_

Three weeks after his kitchen became a crime scene and Nick's house started to feel like home, Greg was back at work. However, he wasn't clocked in and his flip-flop clad feet shuffled nervously under the table in the breakroom. Generally a person in his place would be waiting in an interrogation room, at the very least somewhere with a police escort. But everyone knew Greg was not a risk, and so Grissom let him sit around the table in the breakroom for the longest twenty minutes of his life. Nick was in the field working a case, though he had desperately wanted to be there for Greg, and Sara, Warrick, and Catherine all periodically peaked their heads inside the door to check on him.

Just before he felt like his head might actually explode, Grissom walked into the room and professionally took a seat opposite Greg, not speaking for a few moments.

"Well?" Greg asked impatiently.

"Brass and I spoke to the DA, we showed him the evidence we collected and presented all other circumstances involving the crimes perpetrated by Liam Harper and Jeremy Brooks."

"And?" Greg hated Grissom's manner sometimes.

"And..." A smirk played on Grissom's lips. Now he was just messing with Greg. "...He agreed it was the clearest case of self-defense he'd even seen."  
Greg let out what felt like three weeks worth of stored air and slammed his head into the table dramatically.

"Fuck, Grissom," Was all he could say as Grissom began to chuckle softly. The rest of the team, almost on cue, filtered into the room and congratulated Greg with friendly pats on the shoulder and a few warm hugs.

Relief washed over him.

"So I can come back to work now?" He asked finally.

"Yes," Grissom smiled. "And good thing, because we need someone to go through a dumpster on Tropicana."

Greg couldn't help but smile. Suddenly, dumpster diving sounded like the best idea he'd ever heard.


	11. Chapter 11

Title: Never Too Late

Chapter: 11

Rating: PG-13 for language and adult themes

Author's Note: Thanks, everyone, for reading and the kind and helpful comments. Next chapter, there will probably be some smut…yay!

Greg was staring.

He knew he was staring, and everyone around him probably knew he was staring too. If he was in a Sunday morning cartoon, drool would be dripping down his chin. Why? Because an unfairly hot Texan with charm as big as the state he came from and a body to match kept bending over an enjoyably low car he was processing, giving Greg a very distracting shot of his rear every time he did so. And what annoyed Greg most was that Nick seemed to have absolutely no idea how hot he was. He certainly had no idea of what he was doing to Greg, but although he was supposed to be processing a hub cap or something on the table a few feet away from Nick, he was somehow finding it difficult to concentrate.

"Greg? Greg?"

He finally registered Nick's voice and shook his head a little, literally trying to snap himself out of his trance.

"Huh?"

"Screw driver?"

Greg nodded. "Right." He handed Nick the tool and went back to his solemn gawking.

"Um, Greg?" Nick announced a few moments later.

"Yeah?"

"This is a hammer."

Greg nodded again. "Right."

"Are you feeling okay tonight, G?" Nick asked, taking the screw driver, or so Greg hoped, from his shaking hand.

Greg nodded. "Yeah, what gives you the impression I'm not?"

Nick smiled a little and walked closer to Greg, a musky, manly scent filling his nostrils.

"Because this is a wrench, G."

Greg nodded once more. "Right."

"Are you genuinely losing your mind or did your dad never teach you about tools?"

"No, my dad taught me about tools…sort of. I'm just a little distracted."

A thought suddenly crossed Nick's mind that made his heart wrench a little. He looked around to make sure no one could see before placing a hand on the small of Greg's back and whispering in his ear.

"Are you feeling sick, babe?"

It took Greg a few minutes to register what Nick was asking, and though Nick's genuine concern made him smile, it also made something inside him jolt.

Greg smiled at his boyfriend. "No, Nicky, I'm fine. Promise. You're just distracting me with your hotness is all."

Nick gave Greg a toothy grin and a quick but effective pat on the butt before beginning work on the car again.

Greg let out a sigh, half in frustration, half in awe. People with Nick's body shouldn't have been allowed to exist, especially not to tease someone who couldn't enjoy it completely. And that was the most frustrating part, because really, if he wasn't such a damn wuss, he _could _enjoy Nick's toned, hot, available self completely.

Greg turned around so his back was facing Nick and degloved, tossing the oily latex in the waste basket and disrobed the jumpsuit he'd changed into for the dirty work of auto process. He sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, and then turned back to Nick who was waste deep in the trunk of the old vehicle.

"Nick?" Nick didn't respond, not being able to hear him. Greg walked over to Nick and sat on the edge of the bumper of the car for several moments. When Nick finally pulled his head from the depths of the trunk, something that looked like a sewing needle in hand, he nearly fell backwards at the shock of having Greg so close.

"Nick?" Greg tried again, more forcefully.

"G, you're sitting on my evidence," Nick ignored.

"Nick!" Greg yelled. Nick's eyes latched onto Greg's. "I think we should have sex."

* * *

_"You're like three inches from the wall there, Nicky."_

_"Hey now, I don't want to damage it!"_

_"What, the painting or the wall?"_

_Nick gave his boyfriend an unstoppably amused smile, but still backed the frame up slowly, trying to find the hook on the wall. "The painting, Mr. Smart-ass."_

_"It's a print, babe. If we sold this thing, we'd get like sixteen dollars for it. I wouldn't worry."_

_Nick rolled his eyes, though that inescapable smile still hung across his face. Michael began rummaging through a box resting on the coffee table a few feet away from Nick and pulled out a few books, placing them in absolutely no order on the bookshelf. Their bookshelf. In their new condo._

_"You're still not even close to the wall, but I like watching that hot ass of yours so I don't mind," Michael commented, resting against the countertops in the attached kitchen with his arms crossed over his chest._

_"You could come help me, you know."_

_Michael put a finger to his chin, trying to give the illusion of considering the offer. "No," He said finally. "To the helping, I mean. To the coming…"_

_"Michael!" Nick exclaimed, though there was no stopping the way the omnipresent smile on his face grew even larger._

_"That's exactly the way you should say my name, Nicky, when you're buried in my–"_

_"Michael!" Nick tried again. "You know your parents are around here somewhere?"_

_"That's half the fun, Nicky!" Michael shrugged, as if this was a totally obvious fact._

_Nick muttered something about Michael being a horny bastard before an older couple arose from their new bedroom followed by Michael's twenty-something smiling sister and announced in their usual half-English, half-Spanish that they were running out for sandwiches. _

_"Arianna, ir con ellos y asegurarse de que no estrellar el coche," Michael said to his younger sister. Nick was still in the process of learning the language, but he gathered this meant something along the lines of Michael instructing his sister, Arianna, to accompany his parents and make sure they didn't crash the car. Arianna tried to come off as exasperated but failed, partially because she knew Michael was right, and partially because Michael was simply the type of person you couldn't be exasperated with. Nick both loved and hated that about him._

_"Good, they're gone," Michael said once the door to the condo had closed behind his parents. _

_He walked up behind Nick, who was momentarily giving up on the painting, and placed two firm hands on Nick's hips and an open-mouthed kiss to the back of Nick's sweaty neck. Nick sighed but threw his head back nonetheless, giving Michael more skin to latch onto. Nick intertwined his fingers with Michael's and didn't begin to argue when his shirt was removed and he was being led into the bedroom. Their bedroom. _

* * *

There was really no expressing how wonderful a cold beer tasted after a long, hot, outdoor shift of literally diving through dumpsters. It truly was remarkable, and Greg was enjoying it very much before an abrupt knock came to his front door. He took a quick, disapproving look down at the kitchen floor that was a crime scene nearly two months earlier before opening it.

"Nick, aren't you still on shift?" Was Greg's immediate question when Nick wasted no time in making himself comfortable in Greg's small foyer.

"We need condoms. And maybe dental dams." Nick announced blatantly.

Greg furrowed his eyebrows and internally struggled with wondering just how much alcohol he'd consumed in the last few minutes.

"Okay?" He said simply.

Nick ignored him, and instead began shuffling through the several sheets of paper he was holding in his hands. "…And a couple books, and we should probably make an appointment with your doctor. We can consider post-exposure prophylaxis if you want, though I really don't think it's necessary, and–"

"Nick," Greg interjected, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Nick stepped closer to Greg and brushed his thumb tenderly across Greg's cheek. "Sit," Nick gently commanded, an odd thing to be told, Greg thought, considering he was in his house. But he did as he was told and sat cross-legged on his couch, Nick joining him.

"I don't care, Greg," Was all Nick said at first.

Greg didn't say anything, assuming Nick would continue, but spoke when he didn't.

"I'm still not following, Nicky."

Nick took a deep breath and handed the papers to Greg who took them and began looking through them. Every one of them seemed to be an internet printout, highlighting something about intercourse between HIV-positive and HIV-negative partners. He suddenly realized what Nick was rambling about, and didn't know whether to laugh at his boyfriend's blatant cuteness, or cry at the gesture.

"I don't care," Nick continued as Greg shuffled through the papers. "I don't care that you have HIV, Greg. I really don't. And I've told you before, I'm not afraid of you, and I'm not afraid of having sex with you. But _you_ are, and so all this is for you. But I didn't know how to go about this, because I didn't want to make you feel like I was _worried_ about having sex with you, but I still wanted you to know that I cared, and…"

Before Nick could finish his sentence, Greg's lips were on his, pressing firmly but tenderly.

"You…are very sweet," Was all Greg could think to say when they pulled apart, though he hoped his smile communicated so much more than that.

Judging by Nick's smile in return, it did.

"I'm ready when you are, captain," Nick offered with a chuckle that Greg returned.

"Well then, I should get reading."

Nick nodded once and placed a firm hand on Greg's knee.

"Hey Nick?" Greg asked softly a few moments later, having finished the first article Nick had printed out for him to read.

"Yeah, baby?" Nick responded.

"What the hell is a dental dam?"

* * *

_"Is something wrong?" Michael asked, looking up at Nick from behind reading glasses and the newspaper he'd been absorbed in. _

_Nick looked up. "Huh? No, why?" _

_"Because you keep staring at me. Do I have something in my teeth?" Michael, still somehow charmingly, brought a hand to his mouth and began feeling in between his teeth with the pad of his index finger. _

_Again, Nick couldn't help but smile, but he shook his head nonetheless and tried to turn his attention back to the book he was reading, a futile goal, he realized, since every few moments his eyes would drift upwards again to focus back on Michael. He was a beautiful man, with olive toned skin and dark hair and features, penetrated only by blazing green eyes and perfect lips that always seemed to be molded into a smile. There was something else etched into his face as well, though, lately. Something that Nick had never seen before. It wasn't quite a series of wrinkles or a similar sign of aging, it was more an unplaceable darkness that had nothing to do with Latino descent. Nick thought he probably knew why, he must have known why, but the reality was too intense for him to bear._

"_You're still beautiful," Nick whispered. _

_

* * *

"Well my goodness!" Shelby Fox announced, placing a hand dramatically over her heart as she closed the door to the exam room behind her. "Mr. Gregory Sanders, you do listen to your doctor, don't you? I tell you to find a man and you bring me Mr. October himself."_

Greg smiled a very warm and welcome smile before standing to hug his doctor, confidante, and friend.

"This is Nick Stokes," Greg said once they broke apart, placing a hand on Nick's back.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Fox," Nick said politely, the Texas twang even more apparent than usual.

"It's Shelby, please." Nick nodded and gave her a warm smile. "Sit, sit, both of you!"

The men did as they were told, sitting next to each other in identical chairs as Shelby pulled up a rolling one of her own. Her coarse, black hair sat in tight ringlets across her head and her smile and sunny demeanor was as present as usual.

"What brings two such handsome men to my office this evening?" She asked.

Greg took a quick breath. "I want to have sex, Shelby," He said quickly, almost as if he was embarrassed. "Well…we do."

"Well of course you do!" Shelby exclaimed. "Look at this man!" She motioned at Nick who blushed under the attention.

"I know," Greg agreed. "But see, the thing is, I'm…it's…I don't…you know?" Greg hoped Shelby knew what he was trying to express, because he wasn't sure himself.

She nodded. "I think I do. You're worried, you have concerns, which is normal for both of you."

"It isn't so much me, Dr…Shelby," Nick interjected. "It doesn't bother me so much, actually."

Shelby gave Nick a warm and admiring smile and placed a hand reassuringly atop his.

"You've had HIV positive partners before, have you not?" She asked.

"Greg told you?" Nick wondered aloud.

Shelby shook her head. "No, I can just tell." She rolled back a little so as to address both of them. "See, the thing about HIV that's so damaging – some may say _most_ damaging – is the stigma. And the fear. You probably are both aware of this. But when you take a step back and look at it, there really are much more dangerous things than having a sexual relationship with and HIV positive partner. In fact, when proper precautions are taken, it's quite safe."

Greg nodded, but it was Nick who spoke first. "The statistics aren't so bad, if I recall."

Shelby nodded, obviously somewhat impressed with her patient's choice in boyfriend.

"That's right," She confirmed. "Without protection, even, the risk of becoming infected with HIV from receptive anal sex is somewhere around one in one hundred. And that decreases greatly with protection."

Greg smiled, remembering reading that somewhere within Nick's extensive research.

"But it's more complicated than that," Shelby continued, this time rolling closer to Greg and placing a reassuring hand atop his, mimicking the position she was in with Nick a few moments ago. "It isn't just about the statistics a lot of the time, because often an HIV positive person has emotional barriers when it comes to sex as well."

Greg nodded slightly but stared at his shoes, not wanting Nick to know just how correct Shelby was. There was a silence as Nick grasped what he perhaps hadn't understood before.

"So what do you do about that part of it?" Greg asked smally.

Shelby squeezed his hand. "You talk about it, sometimes constantly, until finally it starts to feel less scary. And you pick a man like this stud over here," She motioned to Nick, "Who's willing to go through all that crap with you."

Greg looked up at her and smiled. She made it sound so simple, but perhaps it was.

"And when you're done going through all that, and you're both ready, you use condoms. Always. No matter what you're doing. And Greg, you keep up with your CD4s and viral loads to make sure you're healthy like you always do, and Nick, you voice any concerns you have as they come to you. Communication is your most important form of protection. And yes, I know how corny that sounds."

She warranted laughs from both Greg and Nick before Nick reached onto Greg's lap and clasped his hand the way Shelby had been. Greg felt a warming at the increasingly familiar touch. He had questions still – for Shelby, for Nick, for himself – but it was suddenly all looking so…positive.


	12. Chapter 12

Title: Never Too Late

Chapter: 12

Rating: Light NC-17 for sexual content and language.

Note: This story will be moving to an "M" rating next chapter (thought it really should this chapter – I forgot to give warning last time), so look for it there from now on. Thanks everyone for such kind reviews!

_Nick sat down on the side of the bed and twisted his torso so that he was facing his sleeping lover. Michael's head was turned to the side on his pillow, and his dark features were accented by a thin layer of gleaming sweat, something Nick had gotten used to his lover experiencing while he slept. His hands were curled peacefully just under his pillow and one foot was sneaking out from underneath the sheets, barely revealing the beginnings of a very thin leg. Michael's calves used to be toned, now they were thin and the bone shown through. Michael's face, still beautiful, but darker and more worn, looked almost ten years older than the man it belonged to._

_He didn't have much time left and Nick knew this all too well. He knew Michael would die, probably within a year. He knew his days with his lover were numbered. And yet somehow, he didn't know this at all._

_Nick stroked the side of Michael's face softly with his fingers, feeling the hot, clammy skin beneath them. _

_"Babe," He whispered. Michael, a light sleeper, stirred at Nick's voice and he moved his head slightly, eyes opening slowly._

_"Hey, you," Michael smiled. His voice was weak from something other than sleep._

_"You hot?"_

_Michael shook his head. "Well, I mean, yeah, but the temperature's fine."_

_Nick smiled. Michael would go to his grave making some sort of similar comment, he was sure. _

_They just looked at each other for a moment. Their eyes locked like they had many times before and Nick continued his slow stroking of Michael's face._

_"Negative," Nick said finally._

_Michael nodded. "Good."_

_That was all that needed to be said, the conversation so redundant, before Nick climbed into bed behind Michael, spooning him, feeling every thinning part of his body._

_Every six months, Nick took a trip to a clinic a few miles from their condo and had his blood drawn for an HIV test. It was precautionary. He and Michael were always careful, but Michael, a rare survivor of the initial early eighties wave of the first people to be diagnosed with HIV, was absolutely insistent Nick got tested. Early detection was key, Michael would advocate, and if Nick did turn up positive at some point, he could get treated as soon as possible. That kind of blatant acceptance that there was always the possibility Nick would become infected was a part of their relationship, and it didn't bother either of them anymore._

_That was, until a few months prior when Nick began feeling ill himself. He was tired, sickly, and thinner than he had been only weeks ago. And it didn't take him long to realize that it was entirely possible that he had come down with the illness that was deteriorating his partner. He was frightened at first, knowing what it did to the body. He thought of his career and the life in front of him, and how he was too young to be facing something so scary. And then he'd remembered Michael, and the immense love he had for him. And fear gave way to serenity, which gave way to slight relief when the clinic called and gave him his negative results. His tiredness and weight loss and malaise had a simple explanation; he was caring for a dying partner._

_And as he held his sleeping lover in his arms, feeling the warm flesh underneath him, he knew that it wouldn't have mattered. A part of him would be happy to succumb to the illness in the same way that Michael was, maybe an immensely depressed part of him even wanted it. And every inch of him knew that there was nothing, not illness nor the threat of illness, that could keep him from love._

_He was not afraid. _

* * *

"Hey."

Nick startled , obviously having not known Greg was standing in his doorway. He removed his reading glasses and put his book face first on the bedside table.

"Hey yourself." Nick patted the bed beside him and lifted his arm, indicating Greg should curl up next to him. "How long have you been standing there?"  
"Couple minutes," Greg shrugged, claiming his given place on the bed against Nick. "You're not so observant, CSI."

Nick chuckled softly. "Good book. And I forgot you had a key."

"Yeah, sure, just tell that to Grissom the next time you botch a case due to lack of observational skills."

"You have so much faith in me, Sanders."

Greg smiled. "Carry on with your book."

Nick did as he was told and began reading again, turning the pages with one hand and absent-mindedly stroking Greg's hair with the other.

Minutes went by as they remained in their current position, until Nick became distracted. His book was shaking, because it seemed his body was shaking, because _Greg_ was shaking.

Nick quickly discarded the book and his glasses on the bedside table again and maneuvered his body so he could see Greg's face better. His eyes were closed tightly and his face looked pale, but he was certainly still conscious and breathing which gave Nick some reassurance.

"Greg?" He asked worriedly. "Greg, are you okay?"

Greg nodded but said nothing.

"No you aren't. C'mere, look at me. Tell me what's wrong. Are you feeling sick?"

Greg shook his head again, his eyes still shut tight, and Nick thought he spotted tears leaking from them.

"Greg, please honey, tell me what's wrong."

Greg sighed deeply and sat up, he opened his bloodshot eyes slowly to meet Nick's concerned ones. He crossed his legs and toyed with a loose thread on the corner of Nick's comforter. Nick was silent, waiting for Greg to say something.

"I'm scared," Greg admitted very softly minutes later.

Nick tilted his head slightly to the side. "Of what?"

Greg shook his head, because he didn't seem to know. "Of you."

"Of me?" Nick asked, motioning to himself. Greg nodded, but he was confused.

"Not of you, Nick. Of…I don't know, what you do to me or something. H-how much I…want you."

Nick nodded, realization dawning on him.

"You're scared of having sex with me," Nick said, more as a statement than a question.

Greg nodded.

"That's okay," Nick said finally, in such a reassuring tone it made Greg look at him, just to make sure he was being honest. He was.

"No it isn't," Greg argued. "It isn't fair, Nick. To you. I mean, we've been dating, what, five months?"

"That's okay, Greg," Nick responded immediately. "I don't care about how long it's been, I told you we'd do it when you were ready and I meant it."

Greg nodded. "I know. I know you did. And you did all this research and have educated both of us, you freaking went with me to my doctor, Nick. And still, for some reason, I'm…scared."

Nick nodded, and there was silence for a few moments before he reached out and took Greg's hand in his own. "That's okay, G," He reassured again. "You're allowed to be scared. You've been living with this for seven years, and you've felt some sort of constant toxicity for all of that time. No one expects you to get over that in a matter of a few months."

"But I _want_ to be over it, Nick."

Silence filled the room for several minutes, Greg not knowing what to say next and Nick not knowing how to respond.

"Would…" Greg finally said, so softly Nick wouldn't have heard him but for the deafening silence. Nick stroked a thumb over the back of Greg's hand. "Would you let me touch you?"  
Nick's eyes widened a little at the unexpected comment. He took a moment to think about how to respond.

"You want to touch me, G?"

"I want to make love to you, Nick," Greg said, staring at the bed. "I don't know I'm ready for that yet. But I still want to make you feel good, Nicky."

Nick blushed slightly, half from a new and abrupt arousal.

"You can touch me whenever, wherever," Nick responded, placing a hand on the side of Greg's face which he leaned into. "But only if _you_ want to."

Greg smiled and stared at Nick. He rose to his knees and scooted a little closer to him before straddling him, grabbing the collar of his polo shirt and pulling him into a deep kiss. Nick tangled his hands in Greg's hair, deepening the kiss even further. Their tongues explored each other as if for the first time, and several minutes went by before Greg brought his hands to the hem of Nick's shirt and began exploring the uncharted skin beneath. Nick shivered with Greg finger's reached his taut nipples and pinched lightly, testing the boundary between pleasure and pain.

"Greg," Nick moaned. Greg hummed in return.

Nick lifted his arms as Greg pulled his shirt over his head, tousling his formerly perfect hair. He ran his hands up and down the newly exposed skin of Nick's torso, over smooth skin and toned muscles. His hands left a trail of heat on Nick's body wherever they went. Nick's short fingernails dug into Greg's scalp, pulling him back in for a long, breathless kiss.

Greg's hands continued to explore Nick's chest as his mouth moved to explore other areas of Nick; his chin, his neck, his collarbone, finally stopping and paying extra attention to an especially sensitive patch of skin just under his ear.

For whole minutes Greg explored Nick's body, Nick moaning appreciatively at every new sensation. His growing erection begged to be touched, and when Greg rested his hand, torturously lightly, on the denim-clad bulge, Nick nearly stopped breathing.

"Fuck, G,"

"You like that, Nicky?" Greg whispered seductively. Nick always assumed Greg would be a talker in bed, but he was hardly complaining, and could do nothing but moan in response.

Greg reached behind him to keep contact with Nick's warm mouth and palmed a little harder with his hand. He fumbled for a few moments to find the button of Nick's jeans, finally popping them through the slots and reaching under the waistband of Nick's boxers to grasp him fully.

"Oh God!" Nick arched into the touch.

"I'm not God," Greg whispered teasingly as he began stroking his lover gently, softly, teasing Nick with a light touch.

"I'm not so sure about that," Nick responded breathlessly. Even though his touch was slight, just the feel of Greg's hand seemed to add some sort of additional…magic.

Greg tugged on the hem of Nick's jeans, and Nick helped him pull them and his boxers further down his legs so that his now full erection slapped against his stomach.

Greg continued stroking Nick, firmer this time, eliciting guttural groans from his lover.

"You're so beautiful, Nicky," Greg whispered sensually so close to Nick's ear he could feel Greg's breath ghost across the other shell.

Greg was loving watching his lover squirm underneath him and whisper his God-given name in a voice he thought might make him forget how to breathe. For a while, he almost forgot about why he was so afraid of loving Nick.

"Harder…faster…G, please," Nick begged. Greg complied, speeding up his movements and tightening his grip on Nick's velvety, swollen member.

"Close Nicky?" Greg asked.

Nick merely nodded, his breath hitched in his throat, and he let out a low moan, his hand encircling Greg's tightly, telling him to speed up even more. Their tongues continued to explore for a few moments before Nick let out a strangled _Greg_, and spilled himself into Greg's hand.

Nick shuttered and Greg continued slow strokes, letting him ride out his orgasm. He kissed Nick completely one last time before reaching onto the bedside table and grabbing a tissue to clean himself up. A sudden rush of something like embarrassment fell over him, and Greg maneuvered himself off of Nick's lap, a blush creeping over his face.

"Hey," Nick panted, placing his hand flat against Greg's flushed cheek. "That was amazing, Greg."

That seemed to be all he needed to hear, and he rewarded Nick with a final touch of their lips.

"Do you want me to return the favor?" Nick asked, continuing stroking his thumb over Greg's cheek.

Greg sighed, but shook his head. "Not tonight."

Nick nodded. That was okay.

* * *

Nick walked into work tired. Contentedly tired. There was something almost refreshing about the kind of tired he was, because he knew it was not due to being overworked or overcome with insomnia, but rather the opposite; he'd been up for far too long with Greg in his arms, talking, touching, letting Greg know that his first sexual experience in seven years was _so_ nothing to be ashamed of. Greg seemed to have gotten the picture, and left Nick's house about an hour before they were due back at work only to get a fresh pair of underwear and pants.

"Hey, Warrick," Nick said casually, slapping his best friend on the back after entering the break room.

"Hey, man, how was your night?"

Nick smiled, blushed, and quickly tilted his head downward, staring into the bottom of a coffee cup to avoid Warrick's now questioning gaze.

"That good, huh?" Warrick asked knowingly.

"Man, you have no idea," Nick responded with a smirk.

Nick poured himself a cup of inevitably very weak, non-Greg supplied coffee and took a bitter sip.

"So when are you planning on telling me who the mystery man is?" Warrick asked, moving closer to Nick and resting his back on the countertop.

Nick shrugged, and added several spoonfuls of sugar to his coffee.

"Dunno, that's sort of up to him."

"Up to him?" Warrick asked intrigued. "Why does your new flame get to decide when to tell your best friend, man?"

The thought dawned on Warrick, and Nick silently cursed himself for his carelessness.

"…Unless it's someone I know," Warrick concluded with a suspicious smirk.

Nick said nothing, merely staring into his coffee. Though he could interrogate a suspect with the best of them, he really was a terrible liar.

"It's someone I know?" Warrick asked. "Who? Someone here?" Warrick was never one to pry, but now he was hooked.

"Shh," Nick said. "Maybe."

"Holy shit, man!" Warrick exclaimed, slapping Nick playfully across the back and causing his coffee to spill over the side and drip onto his shirt.

"Sorry," Warrick apologized, handing a paper towel to Nick. "Now come on, who?"

Nick didn't respond.

"Oh, it's gonna be like that, huh?" Warrick asked, smiling playfully. "Fine. I'll have to guess." He brought his pointer finger to his chin as if deep in thought. "Fredericks, from swing," He guessed.

"Who?"

"Okay, no. Bobby Dawson?" Warrick asked about the Southern ballistics tech.

"Warrick, Bobby has been with his partner for, like, twenty years. No, I'm not a home wrecker."

Warrick put his hands in front of him defensively. "Ah," He teased. "You and Ecklie have a thing going on, don't you?"

Nick nearly choked on the sip of coffee he took. "Jesus, man, make me vomit here."

Warrick laughed. "Sorry. Okay, well I'm running out of options here. It's not me, and I don't think Grissom's suddenly gone Brokeback Mountain, which leaves Greg but…" Warrick trailed off when he caught the unmistakable glimmer in Nick's eyes at the mention of Greg's name.

"Oh my God…" Warrick concluded. "You and Sanders? Really? I had no idea he was even gay."

Nick quieted him once again and glanced through the transparent walls of the break room to make sure no one heard them. He shrugged, a little proudly, and couldn't stop the grin from spreading across his face.

"Hey, mum's the word though, Rick."

Warrick was smiling almost bigger than Nick. "Of course, man." He decided to pour himself a cup of coffee. "Sanders? Really?"

"What about Greg?" Sara's voice came from behind them, and both men turned quickly to see her enter the break room, followed by Grissom and Catherine.

"What about Greg?" Catherine echoed.

"What about me?" Greg himself said, entering the room in fresh clothes, though only Nick could tell the difference.

Warrick jumped in. "You…get to work with Nick today! He's processing several used condoms. Exciting right?"

Nick was grateful for the save, and tried not to look at Greg for fear of giving something away.

"Whatever," Greg shrugged. "At least I don't have to be in the field. It's hot out there!"

Nick smiled completely to himself. _It's hot in here too, G._

* * *

"You never mentioned you were a Harry Potter fan?"

Nick once again startled at Greg's voice coming again from the doorway to his bedroom.

"You have got to stop doing that, G," Nick chuckled.

Greg shrugged. "You have bad observational skills."

"Déjà vu."

Greg climbed into bed, this time without needing to be invited, and curled up next to Nick again. He just felt so at home there.


	13. Chapter 13

"Greg, seriously." Nick looked mock-agitated as he paused mid-fingerprint powder brushing to say something to Greg. "Stop it."

"Stop what?" Greg shrugged innocently.

Nick placed the envelope he'd been fingerprinting on the evidence layout table, pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, exhaled deeply, and finally walked over to Greg.

"Stop looking at me like that," Nick nearly whispered.

"Like what?" The close proximity and temptingly specific scent were enough to nearly make Greg forget his teasing tactics. Nearly.

Nick sighed. "Like you've seen me naked."

Greg smiled seductively and ran his tongue over his bottom lip in almost a subtle enough way to make Nick think he didn't know exactly what he was doing.

"It's making it very difficult to concentrate," Nick continued, though mock anger now gave way completely to an unhideable smile.

"We can't have that," Greg shrugged, before licking his bottom lip again slower, clearly totally getting the message.

"You make me crazy," Nick said, moving even closer to Greg and grasping one of his hands in his own larger one, not even caring to look around and check if anyone was watching.

"I make a lot of people crazy," Greg said, smiling wildly.

"I believe it." Nick moved in for a small kiss. "But you make me crazy in a way that will end my career as a CSI if I do not get some work done."

Greg nodded, this time a little more seriously, and settled for one more small kiss before they both attempted to continue what they'd been doing. Evidence. Fingerprints and DNA and stuff. Right.

"I doubt we'll get anything off this," Nick said defeatedly, turning the envelope covered in partial black smudges on either side.

"Prob'bly not," Greg agreed, not having much luck with his own evidence either.

"I'll take it to Mandy anyway," Nick shrugged. "It'll give me a nice break from having to stare at your hot ass."

Greg smiled but avoided Nick's gaze, focusing instead on the overstuffed, beat-up wallet he'd collected at a crime scene a few hours prior. There was no driver's license in it, no gym memberships or credit cards, only several hundred business cards. Greg squinted, reading through several of them, trying to find a common thread. _Richard Wilson, Attorney at Law_, _Brian Coombs, Marketing Manager_, _Alex Perez, PhD, Professor of Psychology_. Greg shrugged, they were all men, and that was the only thing they had in common. Which, of course, only meant that he was not _seeing_ what they had in common because, as Grissom would put it, "The most compelling link between two people is the appearance of no link at all," or something vague like that. He'd take the names to Archie and see if he couldn't come up with anything more probative. That is, if he could stop visualizing his naked boyfriend every time he closed his eyes.

* * *

_Nick hated hospital rooms._

_They were white, they were sterile. They always smelled like Clorox. He wondered why no brilliant scientific mind had yet to come up with machines that didn't beep in such a completely obnoxious, constant way. The beds were small, the sheets scratchy, and most of all, he hated how Michael looked lying in one. _

_There was something about it that looked so wrong, so out of place; his olive colored skin clashed with the white sheets and white walls and white floors. As he lie, eyes closed, sweat dripping down his forehead, there was still a part of Nick that assumed it was some sort of charade; crazy Michael, up to something, playing some game, trying to fool Nick by pretending to be sick._

_It was just that cough, that loud, persistent, choking cough that reminded Nick that there was no charade, no game to be played. Every few minutes or so, his lover would turn his head a bit and let out a loud, pathetic wheezing sound without ever seeming to wake up. Every time, no matter how used to it he was, he would look up from the white, clean floors he made a habit of staring at from his designated nylon-covered chair, and his eyes would widen, his heart would race. It always took him a moment to remember there was nothing he could do; Michael didn't need Nick to save him every time he coughed, Michael was going to be fine. Well, sort of._

_At times, his condition got so bad the doctors would ask Nick to leave the room. Immediate family and spouses were the only ones allowed, and though the injustice stung, he did as he was told. He left the room, he paced the halls, he'd track down stale coffee and pretend to drink it until he was told he could go back in Michael's room and sit. And that's what he did, he sat, because most of the time Michael was asleep, and when he wasn't he was too winded to speak. They still communicated, via smiles and light touches and secret, almost juvenile hand gestures. And then, after a while, they would send Michael home. _

_"You know how to treat Pneumocystis as well as we do," An experienced doctor told him once. "He's as good at home as he is here." _

_Nick would nod, wheel his partner to his car, and take him home where they'd try to regain some sense of normalcy again. After a few days, a few weeks, Michael would be better. He'd be able to talk, walk around, crack inappropriate jokes like usual. Nick cherished those times, but they didn't last as long as they should have, and within a couple months Michael would be back in the same white, sterile hospital hooked up to the same obnoxious machines. _

_Nick felt a sort of impending doom, a constant state of concern and depression and unrest. Half the reason was because Michael was going to die, he was going to die soon, and Nick was entirely convinced he wasn't ready. And half because he knew that Michael didn't have to be dying. _

_"We'll discharge him in a few days," A small nurse whispered to him, trying in vain not to wake a restless patient during one of their last visits to the familiar hospital. "We've run tests to see why his Pneumocystis keeps occurring, it seems his T-cells are lower and lower every time we see him. It's odd, considering he's still taking his medications."_

_Nick nodded, guilt rising high inside him. "Yeah, odd. I guess they just…stopped working."_

_The nurse gave him a sympathetic smile and a brief touch to his shoulder before exiting the room. Nick sunk into the chair and stared at the sweaty, dissipating remnants of a man in front of him. Guilt, guilt, guilt. Something had stopped working, but it wasn't the medications. It was Michael's very faith itself. _

* * *

By the time he got home – well, not home per say, but to Nick's house, which was becoming increasing similar to home – he was entirely ready to plummet face-first onto a bed, any bed, and fall asleep. He made his way to Nick's bedroom, discarding his clothing in random places along the hallway. Nick was by far neater than Greg, but he was so exhausted he really didn't care about the lecture he'd get from his boyfriend later about how it isn't difficult to actually place clothes in the hamper.

Completely naked except for his left sock, Greg nose-dived into Nick's red and blue quilt and was asleep almost as quickly as he was horizontal, his brain only briefly registering that Nick was not in the bed with him. He was asleep for a few hours before he startled awake at the sound of loud beeping coming from the hallway.

"Motherfucker!" He swore, recognizing the sound immediately and quickly locating his cell phone in his pants to silence the alarm before popping two bitter pills without water. Prepared to go back to bed, he briefly glanced through the cracked door that led to Nick's den. Soft flickering light and low music drifted towards Greg, beckoning him.

Nick was sitting, legs outstretched on the underused love seat and back to Greg. He was awake as far as Greg could tell, but the only part of his body that was moving was his left foot, crossed over his right and moving in soft beat to the music.

Greg redressed himself with the clothes he'd discarded in the hallway, sensing it wasn't exactly the time to be completely naked, and stood in the doorway.

"What're you doing up?" Greg asked, feeling suddenly more like an intrusive house guest than he ever had.

Nick didn't turn around, but acknowledged his presence with a small nod of his head.

"My house, Greg," Nick responded in a way that was gentle, not possessive.

"Says you," Greg shrugged in response, still standing uncertainly in the doorway.

Nick brought his legs to his chest and patted the space his legs had been occupying on the loveseat. "Come'ere."

Greg did as he was told, slowly walking into the den, still feeling oddly intrusive, and took his seat in front of Nick, leaning back against his chest as Nick outstretched his legs once more on either side of Greg.

"Did you drop all your clothes in the hallway before?" Nick asked.

Greg shrugged and avoided eye contact. "Maybe. I didn't think you were home – have you been in here this whole time?"

Nick nodded slowly. A fire burned in the small fireplace on the wall opposite the loveseat, illuminating Nick's already handsome face so that it looked even more chiseled. He looked serene and his foot continued to move in rhythm to the wordless music coming softly from the stereo on the far wall of the rustically decorated room. Greg noticed an empty wine glass sitting on the floor next to a few books, what appeared to be photo albums.

"I never pegged you for a wine guy, Nick," Greg casually pointed out after a few minutes of silence.

"I'm not really," was all Nick offered.

"And what is this you're listening to? Did Keith Urban all of a sudden go all Kenny G?"

Nick laughed slightly. "It's John Coltrane, G," He said so simply, as if it was a totally normal thing for him to be listening to.

Greg turned and looked up at his boyfriend, who was smiling serenely.

"Since when do you listen to jazz?" Greg asked, immediately feeling like he'd gone too far and crossed some sort of invisible line.

"I don't," Nick responded, a hint of sadness in his voice. "Michael did."

Greg turned back around, feeling too embarrassed to look at Nick. "Oh," He said. "I'm sorry."

Nick shook his head. "Don't be." He sighed. "He died ten years ago today."

There was a long silence that hung in the air. Greg didn't know what to say, nothing he could think of seemed sincere enough. He was struggling with whether he should stay or leave Nick alone to grieve when Nick straightened up and tightened his hold on Greg.

"He would have liked you," Nick admitted softly. "You would have liked him. You would have gotten along well."

Greg smiled and once again turned his head to look at Nick, who was looking back at Greg, a small smile, the kind that comes when remembering something wonderful, played across his face. "You remind me of him sometimes. There's something that both of you have, I can't place it. It's like an…energy." Nick chuckled a little and ran a finger through Greg's slightly matted hair. "That sounds stupid, but it's true."

Greg shifted his gaze to the floor where the wine glass was and reached for one of the photo albums.

"May I?" He asked permission.

Nick nodded.

The large, simple blue album was filled to the hilt, overflowing with pictures of various shapes and sizes. The binding creaked as Greg opened it gently, revealing the first page of pictures. Nick, looking more youthful but still completely identical to the way he did now, was in every single one of them, in front of a frying pan smiling with a "kiss the chef" apron on, sitting on the couch with his feet up, bent over laughing in the middle of what appeared to be a park. In about half of the pictures was another man; he was handsome and dark; dark skin, dark eyes, dark hair, but exuberated more light than Greg thought possible in a photograph. In every single one of them, even the pictures that were clearly candid, he was smiling. It was a huge, bright smile that revealed perfect teeth hidden behind full lips, and there was a sense that it was almost permanently there. Even in one photo taken while the man was asleep he appeared to be smiling.

Greg turned the pages slowly, taking in each photograph completely. Clearly, Michael was the photographer of the two of them as many of the pictures were of Nick alone, mostly doing things you wouldn't think to photograph. But they were beautiful.

He flipped through the album in a serene respect, and the room was silent save the soft music and the occasional snicker from Nick as he recalled memories Greg could never know. As he neared the end of the album, he began to notice that the whole thing was a sort of timeline. The pictures, placed in chronological order, started to get somehow more dark. They were still wonderful captures of what were probably wonderful moments, but towards the end of the album, Michael's smile seemed to fade a little, his exuberance shining not quite as brightly. The handsome, dark man became thinner as the album went on, and his features became less defined.

Greg reached the last page, which revealed two photos, one taken in what was obviously a hospital room. In the photograph on the top of the page, Nick was sitting in a chair beside Michael's bed, his hands intertwined over his knees. He bent forward, towards Michael's bed, and was smiling at the photographer. Michael was smiling as well, though his seemed more forced. But it was the final picture, the last in the album, that was the most striking to Greg. It was Nick, taken from behind a screen door. He was alone, arms braced over a balcony, head turned sideways revealing his profile, staring at the view in front of him and body cast in a deep yellow shade, illuminated by the sunset that could be seen over the balcony rail. There was something about that photo in particular that pulled at Greg. Nick looked so overwhelmed, as if he was staring at the world surrounding him just trying to make sense of something. Greg wanted to ask about it, but didn't have to.

"Michael took that one," Nick spoke quietly. "He was lying on the couch at the time because…well…he couldn't stand, but he still insisted on having the camera beside him. He told me this picture was his favorite. Something about the sunset and the way I was standing." Nick shook his head slightly, trying to come off as thinking it was silly. His lips curled into a frown and his eyes creased slightly at the corners. "I needed a minute…I thought he was sleeping. That was right before we left…for hospice. He died a few weeks after that was taken."

Greg broke eye contact looking instead at the photograph again. He could see why it was Michael's favorite, it was beautiful. It captured more emotion than Greg had ever seen in a photograph, and took his breath away before he had time to question where it went.

"Nick, would you…" Greg stopped himself.

"Would I what, baby?"

Greg inhaled quickly. He felt…silly. Or intrusive. Or something. And he kind of didn't care.

"Would you make love to me?"

Nick moved his head back slightly, apparently surprised by Greg's request.

"If you don't…I mean…I know this is a hard time for you…I shouldn't have asked…I'm-"

Rough lips silenced him finding his in an awkward move, and the shock of the kiss took Greg a moment to respond to. When he did, his hands moved to Nick's hair, pulling him in further and relishing the feel of Nick's lips and tongue and hands snaking up under his shirt.

"Come with me," Nick said, getting off the couch and grabbing Greg's hand for him to follow.

He wasn't surprised when they ended up in the bedroom. The door closed behind them with a careless "thud" and Nick, still holding his hand, led them both to the bed. There was something disgustingly romantic about the gesture, but it felt so very…right.

"You, my dear, can have all the love you want," Nick whispered in Greg's ear as they sat next to each other on the mattress.

Greg moaned as Nick bit down lightly on his earlobe, sending chills shuddering down his spine and straight to his groin. His jeans were already feeling uncomfortably tight.

Open-mouthed and not wanting to break contact, Nick lifted Greg's tee shirt over his head and discarded it somewhere on the floor, Greg following suit with Nick's shirt. Both their jeans followed, and something about the sight of their clothes intermingled on the floor increased Greg's desire to almost painful levels.

"Beautiful, G," Nick almost chanted, his hands exploring aimlessly across Greg's bare body. First his fingers traced a light outline around each of his nipples, making Greg bite his lower lip and throw his head back. Then Nick slowly trailed his fingers down to Greg's belly button, mimicking the tracing while his other hand explored Greg's back, between jutting shoulder blades and across tender scar tissue.

Every time Nick's fingers grazed one of the old scars, Greg jumped slightly, out of the pleasure and the sensitivity and the completely new sensation. It briefly dawned on him that no one had ever actually touched his scars, besides doctors, and Nick's lightly calloused fingers felt so. much. better.

"Good, G? Too much?" Nick checked in with his overwhelmed boyfriend, whose head was back in an irresistibly sexy way.

"No, _fuck_ no," Greg replied, eyes shut tight. "Good…so good."

Nick smiled, before latching onto the skin on Greg's neck that seemed to be calling him. He bit down lightly on random patches of skin, and his tongue trailed a pattern from his chin to his collarbone before he dipped lower, taking one nipple, and then the other, into his warm mouth.

"Oh," Was all Greg seemed capable of saying, though his chant became louder and more guttural when Nick lightly palmed his growing erection through the thin cotton of his boxers, trailing the backs of his fingers up and down Greg's shaft. The chills running through his body were so conflicted in meaning he didn't know what to think of them; part was pure pleasure, part was pure horror, part was pure unfamiliarity.

Greg hummed and his hand reflexively flew to Nick's and applied pressure, trying to get more contact, more friction, more Nick.

"Patience, baby," Nick moaned into Greg's neck, and he hated how needy he was compared to Nick's somehow complete composure.

Nick once again latched onto Greg's neck, but his mouth quickly made its way down Greg's torso, ignoring his nipples and instead focusing on the thin, sensitive skin just under his belly button. Greg's hands with in Nick's hair, digging into his scalp, trying to find something to grip in Nick's hair.

"Ready," Greg nearly whispered, though he didn't know what he meant by it. Ready to have sex for the first time since he'd been diagnosed with a life altering disease? Ready to feel loved again? Ready for everything that implied – physical, emotional, psychological? All of the above, maybe.

Nick smiled tenderly up at Greg, lavishing the feel of his fingers carding through his short hair. He tugged on the waistband of Greg's boxers, revealing in one swift motion his impressive erection.

"Nick," Greg managed. Nick looked up at him, though his fingers began torturously stroking the bare, velvety skin of Greg's member. For the first time. "Condom," Greg choked out desperately.

Nick smiled, moved up Greg's body quickly with his lips, and simultaneously reached into the bedside table and whispered in Greg's ear.

"I know, honey," Nick reassured. "I won't forget, please try to relax."

Nick kneeled on the floor between Greg's legs, and Greg made an effort to do as he was told, though his whole body tensed in delicious contraction as Nick slowly rolled the latex sheath onto Greg's member. He hummed through his teeth and shut his eyes tightly as he waited in anticipation for what he knew was coming, what he hadn't felt in so long.

Greg hissed as Nick ran his tongue lightly over Greg's slit, enjoying the somehow still present distinctive taste of Greg through the less distinctive taste of latex. He could still feel Greg's warmth, his stiff member begging for more contact, and Nick gave him just that, sliding Greg's cock into his mouth a few inches before pulling away and repeating the motion.

"Fuck, Nick," Greg moaned, his head thrown back, hands digging into Nick's scalp and leg muscles straining against the firm hold Nick had on them to prevent Greg from uncontrollably thrusting into Nick's throat.

Nick loved the desperate sounds his lover was making, the moans and groans and near chants increasing his own desire to exponential proportions. Bobbing his head up and down Greg's cock, feeling every part of it with his tongue, Nick couldn't resist his own need any longer and began stroking himself through his own boxers, creating a visual for Greg that left him moaning even louder.

"Nick, Nick please…" Greg groaned as Nick's tongue grazed the particularly sensitive part of his member just under the head.

"Please what, baby?" Nick asked, releasing Greg with a "pop".

"In me…" Greg managed. "Now…please."

Nick grinned and stood up, his knees momentarily reminding him that he was getting older, before joining his soon-to-be lover on the bed and burning their lips together in a desperate kiss, sharing a taste with Greg that was both chemical and completely carnal.

Greg scooted backwards on the bed and his lips curled into a teasing smile that belonged on his face so much more than looks of embarrassment or fear.

"Beautiful," Nick reiterated, taking in the complete scope of Greg's milky, fit body, briefly trailing his eyes from Greg's feet to his flushed face, placing one more lingering kiss to his swollen lips before reaching into the bedside table once again to gather his needed supplies.

"I don't want to hurt you, Greg," Nick expressed as he opened the bottle of lube and poured a generous amount onto his fingers.

"You won't," Greg said confidently. "Please, Nick…I trust you. You won't."

Greg's confidence spurred Nick on, and smiling he placed one hand on Greg's lower belly, the other grazing slowly between his legs until reaching his sensitive opening, making Greg startle slightly.

Greg bit his lip in anticipation as Nick slowly worked one finger past Greg's firm ring of muscle and into his unbelievably tight hole.

"Nick," Greg moaned, slightly pained, but mostly purely pleasured.

After giving Greg a while to adjust to the new sensation, another of Nick's fingers joined the one already inside Greg, sweeping across Greg's prostate immediately, causing him to release a shuddering, "Fuck."

"More," Greg said. "More, Nick, inside me. Please."

Nick loved how he seemed to be making a man who never stopped talking incapable of forming words. Quickly he removed his fingers, and rolled a condom onto his throbbing member before placing it at Greg's opening.

"Hey," Nick whispered, placing his hands on either side of Greg. "Look at me, G."

Greg did, staring up into Nick's deep, chocolate brown eyes and seeing nothing but love and trust and…yes, total lack of fear.

Greg placed his hands firmly on Nick's forearms, urging him to move, and Nick slowly pushed his way into Greg's tight entrance, almost immediately noticing how completely tailor-made it felt.

They released a pleasured hum in perfect harmony. Nick worked his way slowly into Greg's body until he was buried to the hilt in his lover. He pulled out almost completely and entered Greg again, hitting his sweet spot immediately and causing him to jump.

"Harder," Greg urged.

Nick kissed Greg deeply and began thrusting more forcefully, almost coming undone just from the sensation. It wasn't the friction that made it so completely incredible, it was something about the way they fit together, like it was a match made in anatomical heaven.

"I love you, G," Nick whispered into the crook of Greg's neck, sweat beads dripping off him and onto his lover.

"I love–_fuck_."

Nick laughed slightly at his unraveling lover. But suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to see Greg do just that – unravel like ribbon from a package.

"So close, Nick…so…" Greg's eyes shut tight, and the friction on his cock from their bodies rubbing together combined with Nick's member hitting his prostate so perfectly with every thrust caused him to come hard, releasing his seed into the sheath surrounding him with a violent shudder and a loud, beautiful groan.

The constriction of Greg's body around his cock drove Nick to his own release, and he followed Greg into pure bliss mere moments after his lover, moaning Greg's God-given name over and over again.

They took a moment to ride out their pleasure, feeling the weight of each other's bodies and the heat emanating from one another. Nick, collapsed onto his lover, placed an open kiss to the crook of Greg's neck, tasting the salty sweat that had accumulated there, before pulling out of Greg and disposing of the condom in the waste basket beside the bed, Greg following suit.

"Now why did we wait so long to do that again?" Greg asked, smiling, as he maneuvered himself so he was lying sideways, head resting on Nick's chest.

Nick chuckled softly and placed a long kiss to the top of Greg's head.

"Because everything worth having is worth waiting for, G."

"And was I worth having?" Greg asked.

"So worth it, baby. So worth everything."

And with that, feeling a kind of content he hadn't felt in…seven years, Greg drifted off to sleep to the sound of Nick's steady heartbeat.


	14. Chapter 14

Title: Never Too Late

Chapter: 14

Rating: PG-13 for adult concepts

Spoilers: Nah, it's harmless

Enjoy! Review! You know the drill.

Nothing. There was nothing on TV. And not in the there's-nothing-I-really-really-want-to-watch kind of way, there was literally nothing but infomercials for exercise equipment that didn't work and fanatical priests telling him through the TV screen to find Jesus and change his life. That kind of nothing. Because it was late, just past three in the morning, and the fancy television channels assumed everyone would be asleep and no one would be watching anyway. Which should have been true. Only, that was the thing about working a graveyard shift; the body didn't know that being away from work for a couple days meant it could keep a normal schedule. And since his body didn't know that, Nick was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, fully clothed, restless, with nothing to watch on TV.

It was all just one more reason to despise the stupid conference he was at in the first place. The lack of good TV mixed with the lack of interesting attendees, which mixed with the lack of interesting speakers, which mixed with the fact that he was learning absolutely nothing, which all mixed in just perfectly with the fact that some brilliant minds decided to throw a conference in Licking, Missouri, a very, very small, very, very white town in the bowels of the Midwest. And yeah, okay, the biggest problem here might have been that the only thing Nick was interested in "licking" was his boyfriend. Who was at home. Fighting crime. And learning things. And not staring at the ceiling counting down days, hours, and minutes until he could return to civilization from an obligatory conference.

It had been seven months that he had been with Greg. Well, six months, three weeks, and four days, not that anyone was counting. Nick had officially been with Greg almost longer than he'd been with anyone else, almost, and he was a little enthralled and a little completely terrified that he was still as smitten with the blonde, younger CSI as he was…well, kind of since the day they met. It was gloriously horrifying to him, in so many ways. Simply, he was in love, head-over-heels or whatever. And Greg was too. There was subtle talk of moving in together, though it was all a little futile since Greg had practically been living at Nick's place anyway, and subtle talk of futures with families and white picket fences and cliché things like that. And then there was less subtle talk about very serious things, like doctors visits and pills, and subjects that made Nick's breath hitch a little in his throat. But all in all, things were going perfectly. There was surprisingly good health and happiness, and lots and lots of sex.

Nick was considering that last thing for a few moments, his mind wandering placidly to a distinctive smell and soft skin and thin limbs and open-mouthed kisses, and he wondered what Greg was doing right then. It was late where Nick was, which meant it was late where Greg was, which meant he would be at work. Oh yeah, work, where he was fighting crime and learning and not cooped up in a mildew-smelling hotel room. He could call anyway, of course, Greg would answer. Maybe just hearing his voice would do…something to make Nick feel less restless.

His phone, somehow reading his thoughts, began to shrill from the bedside table. He answered it on the first ring.

"Nicky, hey, how's the conference?"

Nick felt slight disappointment. "It's good, Cath. How's everything going over there? And how'd you know I'd be up?"

Nick could almost hear Catherine shrugging. "I can never sleep when I'm away at conferences, especially ones held in…where are you? Ohio?"

Nick laughed. "Missouri. I'm about five miles outside of a town called _If I Lived Here I'd Take a Gun to My Brain Stem_."

Catherine laughed as well. "I've heard it's really pretty this time of year."

"Yeah," Nick answered sarcastically. "Anyway, what's up?"

"Warrick's looking for the prints you lifted from the suicide last week and can't find them in the evidence box."

Nick stood up and began pacing, deciding stretching his legs might help get him to sleep. Theoretically.

"Check with Mandy. I dropped them off with her but never put them in the evidence box; the case was closed before they were relevant, but she probably still has them."

Nick heard Catherine relay the information to Warrick and wondered absentmindedly why Warrick couldn't have just called Nick himself.

"Thanks, Nick. I'll let you get back to trying to sleep."

"Oh, wait, Catherine," Nick said before she hung up. "Just wondering, is Greg in the field tonight?"

"Greg's been out for a few days now, Nick. He hasn't been feeling well."

Nick stopped pacing, stopped moving. He merely choked out a "thank you" before hanging up, because in the times he'd talked to Greg since he'd been gone, Greg had never mentioned anything about being sick. And something didn't feel right.

* * *

_Nick whistled as he worked. It was shamelessly cliché, but it just felt too natural not to. Housework was sort of a guilty pleasure for him, somehow. All those years of being told that men didn't clean, their wives did, had an effect on him or something. Or maybe he just liked the way he knew he looked sexy with a feather duster and a bottle of Clorox and just loved showing it off to Michael, who would gawk and whistle and make obscene comments until finally Nick caved and they'd dirty Nick's freshly cleaned kitchen all over again. _

_Today Michael was at work, a somewhat rare occurrence of late as Michael was becoming increasingly ill, but it gave Nick the chance to clean in peace and quiet. And it was an oddly satisfying experience, cleaning out the refrigerator of old, opened cans, putting dry items they were never going to use from their cabinets in a box to be donated. It felt like he was organizing his priorities in some way, cleaning out his life. Or maybe he was just making more space in the kitchen cabinets. _

_His whistling went up a few notes when he opened the cabinet that housed all unused and abandoned medications and supplements and he began shuffling through them, garbage bag in one hand. Dietary supplements of various kinds that Michael bought them during his two week health spree, several brands of unopened multivitamins, a couple unfinished rounds of antibiotics (Nick would have to remind Michael later that you're supposed to take all of the pills in a round of antibiotics, not just the ones you take until you get bored), and then there was a lonely prescription pill bottle at the back of the cabinet, hiding behind the vitamins and antibiotics and supplements. Nick reached back to grab it and, confused, read the label. _

"Michael Gutierrez," _The label read. _"Take one tablet by mouth twice daily." _Nick's eyes wondered up to read the name of the medication. _"Zidovudine, 60 300mg tablets." _Michael's drug, Michael's dose, Nick knew that much. The drug that kept him alive, the drug that sustained him…the drug that had, for some reason been hidden in the back of the cabinet they never used. The drug that was prescribed nearly four months prior as a one month dose, and every single pill seemed to be left in the bottle. _

_Things suddenly fit into place perfectly. Michael's declining health, his sudden insistence that he and Nick revise their wills and take a trip and call old friends…Michael was giving up. Michael had already given up. Michael was ready to die…and Nick wasn't. _

* * *

Nick walked through his front door silently, dropped his luggage next to it, and made a zombie-like bee-line for his bathroom, catching a glimpse of a figure sleeping in his bed in his peripheral vision. He didn't take the time to use the toilet or wash his hands, he just opened the medicine cabinet to the side of the vanity and found what he was looking for instantly.

Greg's pills. The ones he'd decided to keep at Nick's house, except for the few he always had on hand in case his shift ran late and he didn't make it home in time to take the pills. The ones that had been in Nick's medicine cabinet for _two months_ without him thinking to check. The ones that were all, every last one of them, still in the orange-tinted bottle, the last refill date two months back.

_No,_ was all Nick could think. _No no no. _

Greg twitched slightly as Nick's firm hand made contact with his thigh, and he opened his left eye only, recognition taking only a moment.

"Nick, what are you doing home?"

"What the hell is this?" Nick's tone was firm, but trembling. He held up the pill bottle so that the slightly open curtains casted a dim light through it. He shook it lightly a couple times for effect so that the many pills inside made a jingling sound.

"I…" Greg began, eyes both open now.

"What the hell is this, Greg?" A lonely tear fell from the corner of Nick's eye, a tear he didn't know was building.

Greg sat up in bed slowly, pushing himself to a sitting position with his arms. He buried his head in his hands for a moment before sighing and looking straight at Nick.

"Pills, Nick," Greg said in an incredibly small voice.

Nick nodded heavily, a couple more tears falling at the insistent motion. "Yeah. Yeah, they are pills. They're _your_ pills, Greg. And they haven't been taken in two fucking _months_."

Nick threw the pill bottle onto the bed next to Greg so that it made a dramatic indent on the down comforter.

"Nick…" Greg tried to speak, but something like shame and embarrassment overtook him. He looked at Nick, and he couldn't look away, even though he wanted to, because there was something behind moist eyes that was so, so hurt.

Nick shook his head, turned his back to Greg, put his hands to his face and walked away. Greg didn't hear the front door open or close, and was too frozen to go looking for his somewhat devastated boyfriend before he heard the familiar drip of the coffee maker and smelt the familiar smell of coffee beans.

Greg stared at the pill bottle, looking sad and abandoned and lonely on the comforter next to him. Shame coursed through him, then anger, then regret, then sadness, and it wasn't long before he found a pair of sweatpants he'd no doubt abandoned on the floor a few days ago and went into the kitchen to take whatever was coming to him.

Nick was hunched over, arms braced on the countertop, his right foot crossed casually over his left. He was completely frozen, not a muscle in him was moving, not a inch. His face, though statuesque as the rest of his body, conveyed a complete sense of overwhelmingness. He seemed lost somewhere in memory, or stuck in the current moment, or just completely at a loss that Greg didn't fully explain.

He walked up next to Nick, turned and sat on the countertop mere inches from where Nick's knuckles were white from clutching them so hard. Greg hung his head and swung his feet slightly, and neither of them spoke for several minutes.

"Is it just…the side effects, G?" Nick's voice cracked, and it was still the only movement coming from him.

Greg let out a humorless laugh. "No. No, it has nothing to do with the side effects."

There was another moment of silence and Nick shifted a little, tilted his head downward to stare at the floor before finally looking at Greg, eyes fixating on his.

"Then what?" Nick asked, as tears began to involuntarily fall again. "What is it?"

Greg broke the eye contact, taking his turn to stare at the floor. He didn't want to answer, felt suddenly like a punished fourth grader talking to the principal, but he had to. For Nick, he had to.

Greg shook his head slowly, reflectively. "It's the stigma."

Their eyes froze on each other again, wet, darker brown to bloodshot, lighter brown.

"The stigma, G?"

Greg nodded, sighed, and dove in. "A couple months ago I was at a crime scene. This awful couple, the guy killed a twenty-two year old kid. Because he was gay. A friend of their _son's_, Nick. And this guy, terrible guy, he had me pegged…I don't know how, he knew I was gay. He said terrible things to me, Nicky, and all that I can handle, but then…then that _damn_ alarm, and this guy is railing at me about being a homo and a faggot and ruining society, and I'm trying to get the hell out of there, and then he backs away and screams something about how he'd better be careful because I probably have AIDS and…and I don't know. Something snapped, Nick. Something happened. I just…didn't want to be his stereotype. But I _am._"

Nick's hand flew to Greg's, needing to touch, needing to feel.

"No you aren't, Greg," Nick spoke with incredibly conviction. "No you aren't, and you never have been, and you never will be. You're a man – a person – with a disease, and that is it. An illness that you see doctors for, and have tests to monitor, and take medication for, Greg. That's all, that's all it is."

Greg looked sheepishly at Nick, wanting to believe, but not convinced.

"It doesn't feel like that sometimes, Nick."

Nick nodded. "I know, I know it doesn't. Sometimes it feels like you're being punished or got something you deserved, sometimes it even feels like you _deserve_ it. Right, G?"

Greg nodded.

"But you don't. You don't deserve it, and you aren't being punished, and you haven't done anything wrong."

Greg took a slow breath through his nose, and tried to get Nick's words through his head. Nick was right, of course Nick was right, and in time maybe Nick's words were all that would matter.

"How did you know to look?" Greg asked moments later. "To see if I'd been taking the pills, I mean."

"Catherine told me you were sick, G," Nick relayed. "And yeah, people get sick, but you didn't mention anything when we talked. You _terrified_ me, G, I nearly attacked an flight attendant to put me on the next flight back to Vegas."

"Michael," Greg said, piecing things together. Nick nodded.

"You don't have to be like him, Greg, this doesn't have to end the way it did for him. You stay on track, you take your meds, and you'll be fine. But right now," Nick continued, pulling himself up to sit on the counter next to Greg. "Right now, when you aren't doing that, and you aren't taking those pills…right now you're just sick, G. Right now the virus is just attacking every single cell it can with nothing to stop it, and that isn't right, G. That isn't how it has to go."

Nick sighed and stroked the back of Greg's neck with the pads of his fingers. "Look at me, G."

Greg did, trying to keep his eyes from filling with the shame that had burrowed into them recently.

Nick's eye contact was intense; he stared at Greg and into Greg and through Greg.

"Don't give up. You _can't_ give up. Not now, not ever. You're too important, and too many people depend on you. _I _depend on you, Greg, and you _cannot_ give up."

And Greg understood, even when he didn't. He smiled a small but meaningful smile, and nodded.

He wouldn't give up. Not then, not ever.


	15. Chapter 15

Title: Never Too Late

Chapter: 15 and Final

Rating: NC-17

Author's Note: We've reached the final chapter, everyone. I want to extend a major thank you to everyone who's read and/or commented. You are all lovely. Enjoy!

Nick absentmindedly stroked Greg's hair and listened to the sound of him sleeping. His soft, slow breaths made his chest rise and fall and his lips were open slightly. His eyes were gently shut, his cheeks lightly flushed, and his right arm was draped casually over his body and was resting on Nick's chest, curled slightly so that the pads of his fingers made contact with Nick's skin. Heat radiated off his body at every portion of his exposed skin, warming Nick from the inside out. Every once in a while Greg would stir slightly, not able to keep still even in sleep, and Nick would smile at the movement.

He'd been lying awake for at least an hour, just feeling Greg. He didn't need to be up for a while, and probably hadn't gotten nearly enough sleep, but he was unwilling to give up the moment of just feeling. He placed a soft kiss to Greg's forehead, and smiled as, a few moments later, Greg yawned, outstretched his right leg, and looked straight up at Nick.

"Hey," Greg said drowsily.

"Hey yourself," Nick responded, not stopping stroking Greg's hair.

"Have you just been staring at me?" Greg asked, smiling.

Nick just nodded, and placed another light kiss to Greg's temple.

"That's kind of creepy. I should report you," Greg kid as he burrowed his forehead into Nick's chest. Nick chuckled softly.

"I would if I were you."

Greg smiled into Nick's lips, kissing him lightly and relishing the feel of soft yet firm lips against his own. They broke apart, and Greg reached over Nick to move the clock on the bedside table so he could see it, groaning as he saw the time.

"It's one thirty in the afternoon, Nick. Why are we up, again?"

"You weren't," Nick chuckled. "I was."

"Oh. Right. Well then why were you up?"

Nick shrugged. He didn't really know. Because he wanted to look at Greg. Because he needed to look at Greg.

Greg smiled a crooked smile and burrowed himself into Nick's chest again, eyes closing and breath slowing to a steady, lazy pace.

Nick continued his absentminded stroking of Greg's hair. He felt something surge through him that he hadn't felt in a while. It felt good.

"I love you, Greg," Nick said before he too returned to sleep.

* * *

"Busy night, guys. Greg, Warrick, you're on a 719 in Henderson." Grissom began handing out assignments. That was fine, it was the beginning of shift, but most of the team hadn't even poured coffee yet and Greg thought a, "Hello everyone, how are you?" Might have been nice coming from his boss. Nevertheless, the older, wiser CSI was straight to business as usual as soon as he walked into the break room, and maybe Greg didn't mind so much. The sooner he got started, the sooner he got home, the sooner he could go back to sleep. He hadn't slept much the night before. He and Nick were busy with other things.

"So, man," Warrick said playfully as they walked to the Denali, swinging an arm around Greg's shoulders. "How have you been? Any new developments?"

Greg looked up at Warrick, confused. It wasn't that Greg didn't like Warrick, it was just that they weren't that great of friends, and the brotherly gesture was odd.

"Um, I'm fine Warrick, nothing…new. Thanks?"

Warrick pressed on, leaning into Greg a little. "Aw, come on. There has to be _something_ new going on."

Greg suddenly wondered just how much Nick had told Warrick, if anything at all, and briefly made a mental note that that was a conversation they probably should have had months ago. He decided he'd better be on the safe side. Knowing Nick, and his sometimes obnoxious pension for not sharing anything about his life with anyone, plus the fact that two people on the same shift weren't supposed to date anyway, meant that he should probably keep his mouth shut.

"Nope, nothing. I mean…I bought new sneakers yesterday…that's about it."

"Uh-huh," Warrick nodded, reaching the Denali and releasing Greg to get on the driver's side of the vehicle. "And aside from sneakers?" He continued, reaching for his seatbelt.

"Then…I guess there's nothing," Greg said uncertainly, wondering where Warrick was going with the sudden rush of questioning.

"So…there's no one special in your life, Greggo?"

Greg turned to look at Warrick who was looking back at him, wiggling his eyebrows in a knowing way.

"No?" Greg tried.

"Uh-huh," Warrick nodded again, starting the car and backing out of the parking spot. "So how's Nick?" He said like it was the next logical progression.

Greg turned his head to the side. "Okay, who told you?"

Warrick threw his head back slightly and laughed. "He did! And I was going to be all patient and wait for you to tell me yourself or announce it to the team, but seriously, I'm getting old over here."

Greg couldn't help but laugh at that as they drove off in the direction of their destination. Why hadn't they told anyone? Sure, work-wise, it could get them in trouble. But their coworkers were their friends, their family, they could have told them in private and asked them to keep the secret. Of course, there was the bit about no one actually knowing that they had two flaming homosexuals on their team, not that he thought they'd have a problem with it. It had just never come up. Of course, it might provoke questions, about the past and present, and old boyfriends and, oh yeah, there was that whole HIV thing. Right.

"I think it's great," Warrick announced after a few contended moments of silence.

"You do?"

"Yeah. I've been telling Nicky to find someone stable and permanent for years now. After Michael, he was completely off steady relationships, probably wasn't the healthiest thing."

Greg's eyes widened. "You know about Michael?"

Warrick nodded. "Sure, the once love of my best friend's life?"

Greg shrugged, maybe that wasn't so surprising. After all, Nick had turned out to not be nearly as closeted as one might assume, and why wouldn't he have mentioned Michael to Warrick? Then suddenly Greg needed to know something.

"How much has he told you about Michael?"

"Enough. A lot. He was a high school history teacher, a good cook, fluent in three languages…"

Really? Why did Greg not know this? Shouldn't he have known this? His conversations with Nick about Michael hadn't been so extensive, but they did talk about him. On reflection, though, Greg never really had thought to _ask_ what Michael did for a living or where he was from or what his family was like. He'd just assumed he knew…enough.

"…He had a younger sister," Warrick continued his list of things Greg should have known. "He died too young of AIDS…"

And that last one came out so…fluidly. It didn't sting like it usually did to hear that word, the word for what Greg would eventually have. It just rolled off Warrick's tongue like, well, like it was just another fact about a man who used to live.

Greg smiled at Warrick, enjoying how completely stress free it felt to hear someone he didn't usually covet as a confidante share things so intimate about a very important someone they both had in common.

"But anyway," Warrick continued. "Nick was more on the fuck-em-then-dump-em path for a while, and I'm really glad you've gotten him off that."

Greg smiled. He knew that about Nick, that he'd been more of a one-night-stand guy than a relationship guy for most of his recent years. And he was fine with it, before Liam came along Greg's tract record wasn't squeaky clean either.

"So then can I ask you something?" Greg said. Warrick nodded. "What is it about me that got him off that?"

Warrick looked at the younger CSI, smiled, and winked. "You tell me."

* * *

_"Babe, trying to read here," Nick said through a huge grin, fighting the sensation of his boyfriend trailing his tongue up and down the side of Nick's neck. Michael hummed into his skin. "You're making it hard to concentrate."_

_"Ooh," Michael said playfully, bringing one hand in between Nick's legs to palm the growing bulge in his boxers. "Hard is right."_

_Nick smiled wider, if that was even anatomically possible, and gave up on his book. Reality was better. _

_He turned to Michael, removed his reading glasses, and closed the short distance between them in a kiss, light at first, then heavier as he parted his lips to allow Michael access to his tongue. _

_"Reading is overrated," Michael whispered once they broke apart, lips swollen and panting for lost air._

_"Says the teacher," Nick chuckled into Michael's neck, latching on to random pieces of exposed skin. His hand began to travel up his boyfriend's chest, over the thin fabric of his cotton T-shirt, finally lifting it up and over his head and roaming with his hands again, this time over bare skin._

_"Fine, reading when you're the one doing it is overrated," Michael said huskily as Nick latched on to one of his hard nipples, swirling his tongue over the sensitive tissue and smiling into Michael's skin. His hand traveled further down Michael's body, stopping at the hard length underneath his boxers to stroke it lightly through the fabric with just the tips of his fingers. Michael moaned and leaned up to capture Nick's lips again. _

_"These should come off," Michael teased, pulling at the waistband of Nick's boxers. Nick agreed, and shed them off his legs and onto the floor somewhere. He began to pull at Michael's boxers as well before Michael put a finger up in front of Nick's face, wiggled it, smiled teasingly, and slid slyly from under Nick, making him thud into the bed face first. _

_"And just where do you think you're going, sweet cheeks?" Nick hollered as Michael left the room. He returned moments later with a clichéd though much enjoyed bottle of whipped cream and closed the door behind him with his foot, smiling wickedly._

_"Hungry?" Nick asked. _

_Michael nodded, dropped the top to the whipped cream can, and sprayed some of it into his open mouth, licking the cream from his lips before walking over to the bed to share the taste with Nick, who greedily enjoyed it before grasping onto either side of Michael's hips and pulling him down on top of him. He took the whipped cream can from Michael's hand and sprayed some into his own mouth as well. Michael laughed and threw his head back._

_Their lips connected one more time before Nick sat up, turned them over straddling Michael's hips, and sprayed a small amount of the cream onto both of his nipples before lapping it up with his tongue, leaving nothing behind but a squirming, moaning Michael. _

_"I think whipped cream tastes much better on you than on strawberries," Nick said before making a white trail down the center of Michael's stomach with the cream, again following it with his tongue, stopping just above his aching cock before working his way up again and back to his nipples. He repeated the process several times before he gave Michael what he begged for and slid a condom onto him before he took his dripping erection into his mouth, lavishing the taste as he worked his tongue around the head, and took Michael in as far as he could without choking._

_"Yes, Nick…yes," Michael chanted as Nick continued his movements._

_Several moments later, Nick released Michael with a resounding "pop", and worked his way up Michael's body to share the taste with him before he reached into the bedside table and located a bottle of lube and a condom. _

_"Put it on me," Nick hissed, opening the condom wrapped with his teeth before handing it to his lover who smiled viscously before sliding the sheath onto Nick's cock tantalizingly slowly. Nick shut his eyes, smiled, and moaned Michael's name as he released Nick's now condom-covered erection and began to stroke a generous amount of lube up and down his shaft. Again Nick squirmed and muttered something that wasn't quite a word before he brought the head of his cock to Michael's opening, leaving it there just for a moment before sliding into him easily._

_"Mmmh," Michael moaned, eyes shut, a grin wide on his face. Nick slid out, and then thrust back in, hitting his lover's prostate with practiced precision. He repeated the process a few more times before pausing, reaching onto the bed next to them, and recovering the bottle of whipped cream once more, spraying some into Michael's mouth before kissing him again, deeply, tasting the perfect mixture of sweet, and Michael. _

* * *

"So Warrick knows," Greg stated in something that was not quite a question.

"Yeah," Nick said, glancing at Greg only for a moment before returning his attention to the road. They were on their way home after work, deciding to leave Greg's car there since he'd be with Nick until the following shift anyway.

"Huh," Greg responded. "So why…I mean, how long has he known?" He had been looking for a good time to bring it up since Warrick and he had their little chat, but hadn't yet found it. Now, sitting comfortably in the passenger seat with his bare feet resting casually on the dashboard, had to be as good a time as any.

Nick shrugged. "Couple months. Why? Is it a problem?"

"No," Greg shook his head and stared at Nick. "I just thought you were maybe not telling anyone is all."

Nick glanced at Greg again. "Why would I do that?"

Greg broke eye contact with Nick and instead focused on a dirty spot on Nick's windshield. "No reason." Nick seemed fine with leaving it at that, but it felt too unfinished. "I mean, we could get in trouble with Ecklie if he found out, we might be forced to change shifts or something."

"Ecklie wouldn't dare. Split two men up because they're in a relationship? A recipe for a PR disaster. He would never risk it."

Greg nodded, Nick was probably right about that much.

"Well then…maybe I thought you just didn't want anyone to know."

Nick looked at him, mock-surprised. "Why wouldn't I want anyone to know? Generally when you fall in love with someone, you want to tell the world, G."

"Have you told the world?" Greg asked. It was an honest question.

Nick glanced at him again, only briefly, and shrugged. "I guess."

"Well…have you told your parents?"

It seemed odd to Greg, having this conversation with Nick after they'd been seeing each other for almost two thirds of a year. They should have had this conversation already, he should know the answer, but it just seemed talk of things so…normal had been left out in their relationship.

"Kind of," Nick responded cavalierly. "I mean, they know who you are, and they know I've been dating someone. They just don't know I'm dating you."

"Oh," Greg nodded defeatedly and picked at the leather on the armrest of his seat. "Is there…a reason?"

Nick looked at him again, eyes lingering a little longer than before before returning to look at the road ahead of them. He sighed, understanding that they probably _should_ be having this conversation, even if he didn't want to.

"With them…it's complicated, G. It's hard for them to understand that gay people actually date like straight people, and fall in love, and want to tell the world." Greg nodded, and stared at the floor. Nick reached out and grabbed his hand. "I'm not ashamed of you, G. And I love you, and I want to be with you for a long time, and I will tell them."

Greg nodded again, more confidently, and accepted the squeeze Nick gave to his hand with a smile that Nick returned.

* * *

"You okay, babe?" Nick asked, placing a firm hand to the back of Greg's neck as Greg bent over the bathroom sink half an hour before their shift was to start, water recently splashed on his face and dark circles under his eyes.

Greg nodded. "Yeah, just a little light-headed there for a second. Must be coming down with something."

Nick's heart wrenched a little, because no matter how much he knew, logically, that Greg was probably fine, he couldn't shake a fear that he wasn't. And that, that knowing that his lover wasn't okay and wasn't healthy, was too familiar.

Greg turned to face his worried boyfriend, and kissed him tenderly, apparently sensing Nick's emotion in a way that still baffled Nick. "I'm fine," Greg whispered into his ear, before giving him a playful pat on the butt. "I'll see you later tonight. You're off to Desert Palm, right?" Nick nodded. "K'. Love you," Greg shouted over his shoulder on his way out of the bathroom.

Nick echoed the sentiment. There was something so wonderful about the way Greg said those three little words. Nick rubbed his hand across the back of his neck, and turned on the tap, flushing some warm water over his own face as well. _Greg's fine, Nick, _He repeated to himself. _He's fine._

* * *

_Michael coughed again, and Nick shuddered at the sound of it; guttural, throaty, and resonant, like it was coming from deep inside his lungs themselves. It was so familiar, yet it seemed so out of place at the same time. _

_"Almost ready, baby?" Nick asked, sitting on the side of the bed they shared at the home that wouldn't be Michael's much longer, and stroked a hand up and down Michael's exposed arm._

_He nodded, and smiled a little fakely. Nick returned it, but as soon as they made eye contact, their smiles turned into worried frowns, and as if every fake emotion and false strength he'd been putting up for months faded away completely, Michael took in a deep sigh and his chest rose and fell rapidly as he began to sob, clutching Nick's hand in his own, feeling the pain rumble through him like thunder._

_Nick crawled into the bed behind him, wrapped his arms around him tightly, and just held him, periodically placing a simple kiss to the back of his skinny neck. And for at least an hour, that's what they did. Michael sobbed, and Nick shed many of his own tears with him, and they clung to each other. For many rare moments, Michael let down the front he had in front of his parents and his sister and all his other friends; he stopped joking and laughing and not caring, and he cared for a while. He cared and he cried and he grieved, and when his breathing steadied again and the tears dried on his cheeks, he looked up at Nick. _

_"I'm not afraid to die, mi amor," Michael whispered into Nick's neck. A few more tears fell as he worked up the strength to say what needed to be said next. "I'm afraid to leave you."_

_Nick's heart broke into what felt like a million pieces, his strength wavered and his stomach lurched. He held Michael tighter and kissed him, a lingering, heart-felt kiss to the top of his sweat-soaked hair. _

_"You don't need to be," Nick whispered through his own silent sobs. He struggled with what to say, not wanting to upset Michael, but not wanting to lie, either. And in the tradition of what Michael believed in and lived by, Nick decided on honesty. Open, complete honesty. "I will miss you, Michael," Nick whispered. "I will miss you so much, more than there are words to say. And I don't want you to go, and I wish you didn't have to, and I'm angry. At God, or the doctors, or fate, or whatever. And I'm sad, honey, I'm so sad." Nick felt weak as he spoke and tears drained from his tired eyes. He caught a glimpse of two suitcases by the door, filled with clothes and pictures and books and as much of the life of an immortally exuberant man as would fit in two suitcases. He looked at Michael, and found his strength. "But most of all, I am certain, so certain, that you will always be here with me, even when you aren't. And no matter what, Michael, I will always love you."_

_Michael's hands clutched to the front of Nick's tear-stained shirt, and grasped tighter as the words left his lover's mouth. Ready was a useless word, he would never be ready to leave Nick, to leave life. He would do it of course, he would die soon, and he would be okay. But all he wanted in that moment was to feel something one last time._

_"Nick," Michael whispered almost inaudibly. Nick responded with another kiss to his hair. "Make love to me," He almost begged. "Just one last time."_

_And there was no stopping the tears that continued to fall from Nick's eyes at the thought of one last time. One last time wasn't enough, one last time was too short, too soon. But one last time was what they had, and one last time was what he was going to give the man he loved._

_Nick gently moved himself to a sitting position, and found Michael's lips in a kiss that was deep and slow and seemed to never end. Tongues that knew each other well battled as if for the first time and hands that could perfectly map the bodies they were trailing felt every muscle, every dip and turn like it was nothing either of them had ever felt before. Mouth on mouth, hands intertwined with hands, tongues on nipples and necks and stomachs, and it was all so familiar, but all so new. _

_After an eternity, when clothes were finally shed and there was nothing more for tongues to taste or hands to feel and all necessary words had been spoken and all necessary glances had been exchanged, Nick reached, one more time, into the drawer in the bedside table and extracted supplies that he'd extracted thousands of times before. His fingers shook and his lips whispered "I love you's" and "it's okay's" and "one last time's". Nick stroked Michael's member slowly, because there was no room for fast just then, as he opened the bottle of lube and warmed some in his hands before entering one, then two, then three fingers into the man whose body he knew so well. _

_Another eternity later, Nick began to tear the condom wrapper open. The wrapper to the thing that could that could have prevented all this in the first place, the wrapper to the thing that had kept him safe from an unseen killer for all the years he'd been with Michael. He looked at his lover, eyes open but bloodshot, lips parted but dry, and hands shaking but so desperately wanting, and time stood still. Nick's hands stopped shaking, his breathing steadied, and all he could feel was love. He looked at the condom for a moment, and then tossed it away, onto the floor, discarded._

_Michael, too weak to protest, too desperate to argue, just smiled. Nick entered Michael slowly, both of them feeling something completely new and uninhibited and stimulating. It was something incredible, and Nick dropped his forehead into the crook of Michael's neck, sweat mixing with sweat, tears mixing with tears._

_Nick whispered. "Let's not be afraid."_

* * *

"Do you think this might have been a hate crime?" An older, gray, female doctor asked Nick as he stood in the hallway of Desert Palm hospital with a clipboard in one hand and an evidence kit resting at his feet.

"Maybe," Nick responded. "But it seems unusual since the victim is already under hospice care anyway. It's more likely it's a crime over life insurance money or something like that. Or perhaps it's carelessness on the part of one of your staff," Nick finished blatantly.

The doctor looked appalled, taking a hand to her chest in a grand, dramatic gesture. "I beg your pardon?" She asked. "My staff is very well trained, they most certainly had nothing to do with this."

"Maybe," Nick shrugged, and finished with an obligatory "Thank you for your time."

Nick didn't make eye contact as he turned and walked away from the still dumfounded doctor, rounding a corner and finding an uncomfortable chair to fall in to. He knew that was out of line, he'd probably get called out on it later. The hospital staff had nothing to do with it. Someone had come into the patient's room and stabbed him several times in the chest in a futile effort to kill a man near death regardless. The knife had missed all major arteries, and the patient was fine. Well, as fine as one who is dying can be. But nevertheless, the case had gotten to Nick, made him irritable and short-tempered and eager to pin it on anyone, someone. It hit too close to home. The patient, a middle-aged man with no family sitting around his bed grieving for him, was dying of AIDS. It stung Nick like someone was mocking him, like God himself was playing cruel tricks.

A nurse had gathered all the evidence from the man himself, much to Nick's pleasing, and all he'd had to do was interview potential witnesses and review surveillance tapes. It would be an easy case to close, and Nick could have gone back to the lab, processed his evidence, found the perpetrator, presented it to Grissom on a silver platter, and gone home. But he didn't. Instead, he tracked down the victim's room number, and he stood outside, staring through the glass diving him from a thin, dying man hooked up to several machines, and he watched for hours. Watched labored breaths and fluttering eyelids, watched from a distance as nurses and occasional visitors who didn't stay long and one Doctor Shelby Fox, the very woman keeping his own boyfriend alive, maneuvered in and out of the room, toying with machines and taking vital signs and doing everything they possible could do.

* * *

_Michael died, and Nick had been there. Not in the room, not with Michael's family, not close enough to hear the ragged, short, labored breaths or the buzzing of sterile medical equipment. _

_Instead he'd sat in the lobby many doors down from his room at the large, sour-smelling hospice center. It smelled like death. He sat with his head between his legs, lost in something that didn't quite yet feel like grief. Doctors, nurses, caregivers of all kinds swarmed around him, and they all knew why he was there. They'd seen hundreds if not thousands of Nick's, hundreds if not thousands of overwhelmed family members, friends, lovers, soulmates. They knew not to touch him or speak to him or offer condolences, they knew what he needed. They knew that, just for a while, he needed to be caught in a world where Michael was healthy, where he was alive and brimming with spirit, where he was the person Nick really, really wanted him to be again. Michael would never be that person again, but he clung to the memories like the very machines barely keeping him alive. And like the machines that stopped beeping when they were disconnected and like the ragged breaths that eventually stopped all together and like the color that drained from a once beautiful face, Nick shut his eyes, forced out those memories, and said goodbye. _

* * *

When Shelby Fox exited the room of one of her patients, one of the unlucky ones who was, as eventually happens with all, succumbing to his disease, she noticed someone. A man, standing with his arms crossed protectively over his chest, many yards away from the patient's room. He looked familiar, a boyfriend of one of her patients, she remembered, and it took her a minute to recall his name. She did, of course, she was good with names. She remembered everyone.

But as Shelby looked at him, she couldn't look away. He looked untouchable, unsaveable, so completely lost in grief that couldn't be placed that it almost seemed there was a thin glass film dividing him from the rest of the world.

She walked over to him slowly and stood beside him, a foot or two away, careful not to break that glass film. She crossed her arms over her chest and he watched the hospital workers through the glass panes surrounding the sterile hospital room. She watched with him. They stood in silence for many moments, just watching, before either one of them spoke.

"Is this what they're all like?" A wary Nick asked her in a very small, very wounded voice.

Shelby took a deep breath, she pulled her thoughts together. "Nick, you know as well as I that the final moments of anyone's life aren't pleasant. All it is is the heart slowing down and the organs giving way and short breaths of air…" She looked over at him. His expression hadn't changed. She wasn't giving him what he needed, she wasn't telling him what he needed to hear, and she knew it.

She placed a comforting hand on his forearm, gathered her thoughts, and let out a breath. "But yes," She whispered. "Eventually…they are all like this."

Nick let a tear fall; for that truth, for the man dying in the room in front of him, for a man he lost many years ago and the man he might lose at some point in the future. And then, eventually, he took a slow breath through his nostrils, let it out, and went home to the man he had _then_, in that moment. The man who was alive and well. The man who, yes, would die. Eventually. Eventually his disease would overtake him. Or maybe not. Maybe he'd get cancer or be in a car accident or his luck would run out and an accident at work would claim him. Maybe Nick would die first. Maybe they'd both be old and gray and using bibs to eat before either one of them gave in to death. Or maybe it would be tomorrow. He didn't know, and it didn't matter, because they had _then_, they had that moment. And that was enough.

* * *

Nick smiled at himself in the mirror as he moved his tie a little more to the left, deciding it was centered once and for all. He didn't look half bad in a suit, he thought. Perhaps it was a look he should try more often.

He glanced at his watch; 7:33. Greg would meet him outside the stratosphere on the strip in twenty-seven minutes, and Nick knew he would be nervous. Who knew what Greg thought was going on, perhaps he actually assumed Nick would be taking him out for a classic Las Vegas evening. But surely two and a half years of dating and Greg would know better than that, know that Nick was more the secluded parked car with a great view type than the dinner and dancing type. Nick had planned to take Greg to a spot he'd discovered several years ago, just after he'd moved to Vegas, with an incredible view of the city and romantic charm to go around, and they would eat and drink wine and share kisses. And the Nick would propose. Because he'd wanted to for, oh, about two and a half years. Because Greg wanted it too. Because they wanted to consider starting a family of their own. Because they were in love, and Nick wanted to show Greg just how much.

And then there was a small party, assuming Greg said yes, at Catherine's house. She'd offered to throw it after she discovered Nick's plan to propose, and news had traveled quickly around the lab. It was somewhat of a miracle that Greg didn't know what was happening already, though maybe he did. All their friends, the ones who had been so supportive when it _did_ finally come out that Nick and Greg were dating, would be there to help them celebrate. Work friends, personal friends, Shelby, even some family members.

Oh yes, Nick had been planning the evening forever, and he was expecting perfection. Of course, as long as Greg said yes, perfection wouldn't be hard to come by.

Nick took one last glance at himself, and opened the medicine cabinet to locate the ring he'd hidden inside a bottle of multivitamins (somewhere Greg would never look). He found the ring and rolled it in his fingers a few times before placing the empty bottle back on the shelf.

His eye caught a glimpse of something; a tinted, orange prescription pill bottle. Greg's pills, the ones that he took every day, twice a day. The ones that staved off the potentially horrid affects of a definitively horrid disease. The ones that kept him alive.

Nick just smiled at the lone pill bottle, and he closed the cabinet.

_A/N: The title for this story is taken from two song titles: "Never Too Late" by The Rescues, and "Not Too Late" by Norah Jones. You should probably look both of them up, you know, if you like good music. ;) Thanks for reading, everyone!_


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